Room At The Inn (The Jeff Resnick Mysteries) Read Free

rest of the weekend. I wanted a shot of the main entrance, but to get it we had to do some spruce-up gardening.
    Nadine showed us where to find the pruning shears, a broom and bushel basket. I trimmed hedges while Maggie dead-headed the annuals. She also swept the walk and allowed me to brush away the spider webs on the shingled exterior, a job she wasn't keen on doing. Once the entrance looked inviting, I set up the tripod and snapped away, looking much more professional than I felt.
    Cars came and went. While we didn't actually meet any of the other guests, we nodded a hello to the curious few who passed on their way in or out of the place.
    It was nearly sunset by the time we packed up the equipment and crowded it into our room. By then all we were interested in was finding a place to chow down. We came across a convenience store in the village, bought a sub sandwich and a couple of Cokes, and feasted in the front seat of my car.
    Maggie was quiet, radiating waves of disappointment and embarrassment. I feel like an emotional leech when I glom onto someone else's feelings, and I seldom tune into the more joyful end of the emotional spectrum.
    I reached over and touched her shoulder. "Maggs, it's not your fault."
    "Yes it is. I didn't clarify with Susan what was expected. I didn't cement the deal in writing, and now we're doing yard work and eating in your car—" She let out a ragged breath.
    "Hey, we're together, that's all that matters. Next time it'll be different."
    She met my gaze. "Next time?"
    I gave her a smile. "I have this funny feeling...."
    "Next time," she murmured, warming to the idea.
    After we'd finished eating, I tossed the remains into a trash barrel outside the store, got back in the car and pulled onto the highway.
    "Do you think we'll have time to take a drive and just enjoy the scenery?" Maggie asked.
    I shook my head. "We knew it would be a working vacation. We just didn't know how much work it would actually be."
    "What will we tell the other guests?"
    "The truth. We're there to take pictures for a magazine article. We'll spend time in the common rooms and you'll get a real feel for the place. That'll make your article even better.”
    The motels, restaurants, and small shopping plazas petered out the further north we went. As we rounded a bend in the road, I suddenly thought of my brother, Richard. With the thought came an unsettling sense of urgency. Was it tied to that premonition of death I'd experienced earlier?
    I didn't want to think about it.
    A Mercedes, a Cadillac, a BMW, and a red hot Camaro lined the Sugar Maple's driveway. When the Dawson's completed renovating the other rooms, they'd need to come up with better parking arrangements. I left my aging Chevy sedan in back, noticing how shabby it looked in comparison.
    Maggie went back to our room to freshen up and I headed to the lower level for coffee and a couple of cookies. I sat at one of the tables, scoping out the warm, pleasant dining room. Unlike the overdone lobby, here the antiques, cheerful wallpaper, and lamps with candle-like flicker bulbs, lent an air of comfort.
    A miniature Christmas village sat on a wide table at the room's perimeter. Ceramic houses, shops, and churches flanked a plastic paved road. Working stoplights and street lamps glowed while porcelain skaters, whirling on a mirror pond, gave the pseudo town life. Susan had big bucks tied up in the display, which played on the beauty of the area, reminding guests that ski season was just around the corner. With blazing logs in the fireplace and a hot toddy in hand, the inn would indeed be a very romantic setting. Too bad when winter arrived we'd be back in snowy Buffalo, which had none of Stowe's ambiance.
    I could set up the tripod just about anywhere in the room and get pleasing shots—that is if I could light it properly. Digital cameras are great in low-light situations, but what the average person considered great and a photo editor considered print quality were