Fogged Inn Read Free Page B

said.
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œSo the sisters aren’t alarmed when they see you.”
    â€œThey’ve known me all my life, Julia, just like you.”
    That was true. I’d grown up across the street from the Snuggles Inn. Jamie, who was my age—thirty—had always lived, still lived, in the house next door to my mother’s.
    â€œYou’re in your uniform, on their front porch at, what?” I looked at my phone. “Seven in the morning.” My, how time flies when you’re not having fun. “You know it will go better if I’m standing next to you.”
    Jamie hesitated. He was well acquainted with Vee Snugg’s love of the dramatic. “Okay,” he finally said. “Get your coat. Hurry.”
    I ran upstairs; put food and water in bowls for Le Roi, my Maine coon cat; grabbed my coat; and called good-bye. Le Roi lifted a lazy head out of the folds in the duvet, blinked, and went to sleep again.
    Chris was waiting at the bottom of the stairs when I came back down.
    â€œIt’s definitely the same guy,” he whispered.
    â€œYup. I saw the, uh, scar,” I responded.
    â€œMe too. How the heck . . . ?”
    â€œI don’t know.” I inclined my head in the direction of the cops and the ME. “Let’s talk soon. Where are you headed?”
    â€œAt eight thirty I’ve got to take Mrs. Deakins to the supermarket. I’m going back to my cabin to trade my truck for my cab.”
    During the busy season, Chris had three jobs. He worked at his landscaping business, drove a cab he owned, and was a bouncer at Crowley’s, Busman’s Harbor’s most touristy bar. Now that the summer was over, short cab hops were as good as it got. He and I were still working out the logistics of having two places to live. It seemed like his truck, or his cab, or my car was always in the wrong place.
    â€œOkay,” I said. “Call me soon. We need to talk.”
    His lips brushed my cheek and he was out the door.

Chapter 3
    Jamie left the squad car at Gus’s, and we walked out of the back harbor and up the hill toward Snuggles Inn. The day was overcast, and a fierce wind cut through my coat. Jamie was a good deal taller than my paltry five-foot-two, and I had to push to keep up. Nothing was very far from anything else in Busman’s Harbor proper, and soon we were on the Snuggles’ front porch. Jamie rang the bell, and a deep bong echoed inside.
    â€œComing!” Viola Snugg, called Vee, opened the front door. At seventy-five years of age and slightly after 7 AM , Vee cut an elegant figure. Her luxurious snow-white hair was swept up in a perfect coif, and she was wearing, as always, a tailored dress, hose, and high heels. As I’d predicted, her eyes took in Jamie in his uniform and she immediately stepped backward, clutching her hand to her ample bosom. “Oh my. How can I help you?”
    â€œMay we come in?” Jamie asked.
    â€œOf course, Jamie, er, Officer Dawes. And Julia.” She threw me a quizzical look.
    The Snuggles was, as always, tidy and inviting. Vee directed us to the front parlor. “You’re here about our guest,” she said to Jamie before we sat down.
    â€œWhy do you say that?” Jamie asked.
    â€œHe didn’t come back last night.” We all settled into our seats—Jamie and I on the Victorian settee the Snugg sisters had inherited from their grandparents, Vee in the straight-backed, upholstered chair opposite. I had the feeling Jamie sat down only because he didn’t want Vee to think she had to remain standing.
    â€œHow did you discover he didn’t return to his room?” Jamie asked.
    â€œHe arrived a little after five last evening. He had a reservation for two nights. Fee and I greeted him and suggested he might like to have his evening meal at Gus’s Too.” Not a hard recommendation to make, considering we were the only place open on weeknights during the