A Killing On The Water Read online

  A Killing On The Water

  Blythe Baker

  Copyright © 2018 by Blythe Baker

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  The Sunrise Bed & Breakfast: where murder never sleeps...

  Piper and Page Lane have barely had time to catch their breaths since their last dramatic adventure, but mayhem never rests at the old Victorian house on Seaward Circle. Trouble comes to the island in the form of a film crew arriving to create a documentary of Sunrise’s outlaw past. The turmoil only grows when Mrs. Harris comes down from her attic and predicts a dark cloud is cast over the bed and breakfast’s newest guests, the rich and spoiled Preston family and their unpleasant nanny.

  Together with her faithful and furry sidekick Jasper, Piper launches a new investigation filled with secrets, pirate ships, and more than a little murder.

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  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  “Let’s go, boy,” I said to Jasper, my beloved French bulldog. His black and white face seemed to grin up at me as I led him across the path toward the B&B I owned with my sister, Page. I admired my home as we walked.

  The two-story Victorian was brightly painted and had a large wrap-around porch. Page and I had painted the shutters and trim Tempest Blue when we bought the place. I loved the carriage house shingles in various shades of grey and the round window on the small attic tucked among the roof’s gables. The lawn was neatly tended, with a few tall shade trees, closely trimmed hedges, and flower beds teeming with scarlet blossoms. A black wrought-iron fence with gates on two sides surrounded the property. The fence enabled me to let Jasper out by himself on days when I didn’t want to stand in the rain while he took care of business, but there was no rain today so we had been out enjoying the glorious morning together.

  When he realized we were on our way home, Jasper’s waddling body strained forward, pulling me along behind him toward the back gate. I opened it for him and hurried over to let him in the kitchen door, where I dropped the leash so that he could barrel past Page’s legs to his water bowl.

  The kitchen was Page’s domain, and she had chosen the design when we renovated it before opening for business. She had painted the walls teal, and white grout stood out against the backsplash tiles in the same shade as the walls. The cabinets were also painted white, and the counter was butcher block. Along one wall were side-by-side ovens with a warmer above one and a microwave above the other. Next to the ovens, below a large window, was a three-compartment sink. An enormous refrigerator and freezer sat on the far wall, with gas burners farther down the wall. The door to the generous pantry was next to the refrigerator, and the door to the rest of the house was on the opposite wall. The island had a built-in griddle and an industrial dishwasher that we usually forgot about because we were so used to hand-washing our dishes. On the other side of the island was a row of cushy white barstools, where the family usually preferred to eat.

  I scooped food into Jasper’s dish and then reached under his chin to remove the leash, soaking my hand in the process. Page shook her head and grumbled under her breath as I snatched a towel from her hands to dry off, before rolling Jasper’s leash up and tossing it in the drawer by the door.

  “Good morning,” I sang as I tossed the wet towel at Page and darted out of hearing range and into the dining room. Page’s teenage daughter, Blaire, waved from a couch in the living room, where she was reading while waiting for the Mickelsons to come down and check out. With long, dark brown hair that she had brushed out to a shine today, Blaire looked like a younger version of her mother.

  While the kitchen was Page’s domain, the rest of the B&B reflected my tastes. Along the wall inside the door was a long table where we would set out things like bagels or pastries that didn’t need to be kept hot or cold. A mini-fridge with milk and juice sat on the end of the table so that the guests could help themselves. I stocked the mini-fridge with yogurt or fresh fruit when guests expressed interest in it.

  Six small tables that matched the food table sat along the walls, three on each side. Five of the tables had two cushioned chairs with a simple grey and white geometric pattern. The placemats were a solid grey and matched the chairs. The sixth table held thermal carafes filled with regular and decaf coffee and hot water. Creamer, sweeteners, and bags of tea sat in a cute little storage container I’d found in a shop the last time I went to the mainland. The window on the far wall looked out over the back patio, where we sometimes set up seating when the weather was nice. We wouldn’t be getting any use out of the patio in the next several days, if the forecasters were right. This morning might be the last warm sunshine we saw for awhile.

  Breakfast was officially over, so I began cleaning up the leftovers and wiping down the tables. Several of the guests had ordered hot breakfasts, and my stomach rumbled as I scraped the scraps onto one plate and stacked the rest of the dishes to bring in for Page to wash. I grabbed a banana and gobbled it down as I gave the dining room a final check.

  By the time I finished refilling the coffee supplies, Blaire had checked the Mickelsons out, and all the other guests had left for the day. Blaire went upstairs to start cleaning the rooms, and I was about to join her when the front door crashed open. A tall, thin man with perfectly tousled blond hair entered. On his arm was a slightly overweight woman wearing too much lipstick and heels that would take me years of saving to afford.

  “Raymond and Elizabeth Preston checking in,” the man said in a snooty voice.

  “Welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Preston,” I said, approaching them with a smile. “I have a total of four guests staying in two rooms for four nights. Is that correct?” I began pulling together their paperwork at the desk and checked to see if they had already paid for their rooms.

  “Yes, that’s correct,” the man said, tapping his index finger on the desk impatiently. “Call us Ray and Elizabeth. Now, I need to discuss your breakfast menu. Are you the person in charge?”

  “I’m one of the owners,” I responded with a nod, setting the print-outs of their room information in front of them.

  “My digestive system is delicate,” Ray said. “I cannot have anything with dairy, gluten, any sort of nut, or spices of any kind. You will accommodate my needs, I assume?”

  Making a note to research foods that met his criteria, I smiled and said, “Of course, sir.” I glanced over as Jasper stretched and padded across the room to lie where the sun was warming a spot on the floor. The woman, Elizabeth, gasped.

  “What….is that?” her husband spat out. “An animal? Inside?”

  I struggled to keep smiling. “That’s Jasper. He goes where I go.”

  “It’s unsanitary!” Elizabeth said.

  “He’s perfectly clean, and he’s had his shots,” I protested. “He doesn’t go into the sleeping areas.”

  “Wh
at about the kitchen?” Ray huffed.

  “Well, yes, on the floor,” I responded. “But we don’t prepare food on the floor.”

  “I should hope not!” Elizabeth looked pale at the thought.

  “If you’d like, I could make a call and try to find somewhere else for you to stay,” I said, “but there’s only one motel on the island and I would bet it’s booked up. There’s a film crew shooting a documentary here right now, and between the crew and the onlookers, everything has been close to full for the past few weeks.”

  “I suppose this will have to do,” Ray said with a glare.

  “All right, then. Your rooms will be ready in about an hour. Would you like a map of the island so that you can explore in the meantime?”

  “An hour!” Elizabeth huffed.

  “Yes, you see, check-in is at three. It’s only eleven, but we’re cleaning the rooms as we speak.” My cheeks were starting to hurt from forcing my smile for too long. “You’re early,” I rephrased when they didn’t respond.

  “An hour on this tiny island,” she shook her head. “I can’t imagine there’s anything worthwhile to do.”

  I bit back the question of why they would come to Sunrise if cozy little islands weren’t their thing. Most vacationers liked the small town vibe of the island. I had to remind myself the Preston’s motives were none of my business.

  The couple grabbed their information and walked out the door. I noticed a boy running around in the parking lot and remembered that the second room was for the Prestons’ son and his nanny. Hoping the boy would be more pleasant than his parents, I hurried upstairs to help Blaire. I hoped that Page would have to handle any future encounters with the Prestons.

  After the rooms had been cleaned and restocked, I let Blaire run off to meet her friends at the beach while I wandered downstairs to see what kind of mood Page was in. I choked back a giggle when I poked my head into the kitchen and found her sitting on a stool with her forehead on the counter, snoring.

  I closed the door quietly behind me and drifted into the living room where Mrs. Harris was sitting, humming to herself. The old lady had been coming down from her attic apartments more frequently lately to join the rest of us. She was beginning to seem like a member of the family.

  The living room was my favorite room in the house. Grey sofas that matched the color of the dining room chairs sat facing each other in the center of the room. Two matching grey armchairs were side-by-side at one end, and the other was open to the gas fireplace. A sturdy wooden coffee table sat in the center of the seating area, and a large, grey area rug several shades darker than the chairs covered most of the room’s floorspace.

  The walls were painted a grey much lighter than the sofas, and bright white built-ins were stacked with books and knick-knacks that we’d accumulated since moving in a few months ago. The geometric pattern on the dining room chairs was carried over into this room on the throw pillows and curtains. Above the fireplace was a wooden mantel that matched the coffee table. An old black and white photograph of the house when it was a family home sat at the center of the mantel, flanked by small round planters growing a variety of succulents.

  “How are you today, Mrs. Harris?” I asked, sitting on the sofa across from the old woman.

  “I am as you see me,” she answered cryptically. Her eyes were blue and slightly cloudy, with only a hint of the senility that frequently took her over. We had inherited Mrs. Harris when we bought the B&B. She had been accustomed to living in the attic of her old family home, and Page and I didn’t have the heart to kick her out. She was a little crazy, but harmless. I listened to try and place the song she was humming, but she was interrupted when the front door burst loudly open for the second time that day.

  A boy ran through the door, and Mrs. Harris’s eyes opened wide at his entrance. “The ghosts!” she gasped.

  Chapter 2

  I looked around but there was no sign of any “ghosts”. It was typical of the old lady to make such random and wild statements.

  Mrs. Harris was staring at the boy as he plowed through the front room and into the living room, throwing himself at an armchair with enough force to move it a few inches out of place. With a grunt, he jumped up and ran back into the front room, where he raced in circles around his elderly nanny.

  I stood, hoping to get Mrs. Harris to her rooms before she scared the guests. “Come on, Mrs. Harris,” I said, helping her up. “It’s time for your nap.”

  “Ghosts,” she moaned. “Do you see them?” she asked the boy as we passed him. The Prestons came in and stood beside the nanny, an older woman in a long, prim white dress, and the boy. I nodded at them as I helped a confused Mrs. Harris up the steps. “My ghosts are everywhere!” she cried out. “Why won’t they leave me alone?”

  “Shh…” I said, rubbing her back soothingly. “We’re almost to your room. Just one more set of stairs and you can relax.”

  Despite my calming words, I couldn’t help a shiver of foreboding. It was a strange thing, but I had learned to trust Mrs. Harris’s odd instincts, since moving to Sunrise Island. Every time she started talking about ghosts or predicting doom, some form of danger inevitably appeared not long after. I only hoped this time she was wrong.

  We finally made it to her room, and I helped her take her shoes off and slide into bed. I sat with her, making soothing noises until sleep overtook her.

  I waited a while before returning downstairs, preferring to listen to the woman sleeping, rather than to risk running into the Prestons. I glanced around at the room. Although it was just a little attic room, the décor made it feel airy and spacious. The walls were painted white, and the platform bed sat low to the floor, making it easier for the older woman to get in and out. There was a window on one end, and the wall on the other end was lined with shelves that held Mrs. Harris’s snow globe collection and her jar of marbles. Sunlight reflected off of the globes, making them seem enchanted.

  After a while, I got tired of staring at the attic wall, so I shook away the eerie feeling Mrs. Harris’s comments about ghosts had awoken within me and ventured downstairs again. There was no sign of the Prestons, but Page was scowling at a small angel statue whose wings had broken off. “I think that kid did it,” she said, glaring at me as if the Prestons’ son was my responsibility.

  I shrugged. “We can glue them back on.” I took the pieces from her hands, and she stomped into the kitchen. I followed her, taking the superglue she pulled out of a drawer. I carefully lined one of the wings with the glue and held it in place. Page filled the kettle with water and set it on the stove. She turned the knob until the burner lit, then turned around to watch me.

  “That boy’s a handful,” she said. “He was all over the place, and none of them did anything about it. He was rude to the nanny—oh, and she’s a real piece of work, too.”

  “I guess it runs in the family,” I said, giving her a small smile. “They’re only here for a few days. Just avoid them as much as you can.”

  “Why are they here at all? They act miserable, and they really don’t seem like the type that usually comes to the island.” Page pulled out two mugs and dropped tea bags into them, looping the strings around the handles.

  “I really don’t know,” I said with a sigh. “Does it matter?” I glued the other wing back on while she poured the water into the mugs and pushed one toward me. I watched the swirling steam as I waited for the glue to set.

  “Heard anything from Mason lately?” Page asked after a minute.

  “Yeah, a couple of days ago. He’s extending his stay in Houston.” I braced myself for whatever was coming.

  She took her time arranging her thoughts. “You know I like Mason,” she finally said. “He’s dependable, and he’s good for you. Having said that, what kind of boyfriend takes off for weeks at a time?”

  I knew she was just being protective, but it felt like she was criticizing me for putting up with his leaving.

  “He’s working on his art,” I protested, but
my heart wasn’t in it. We’d had this argument before, and besides, I was struggling with his being gone, too. “Just…leave it,” I said before she could go on.

  Page nodded and waved as she took her tea into her room.

  I set the angel on the windowsill to finish drying and took my tea into the living room. I settled on the couch and smiled at the noisy college students who were hurrying up the steps. A whole gang of them were in town to watch a group of filmmakers who were working on a historical documentary here on the island. I suspected the college kids were hoping to try and get themselves on camera. Their rooms were across the hall from the Prestons’, and I held my breath as I waited for a reaction to the noise.

  Not hearing one, I sipped my tea and waited for Blaire to get home before heading to bed. The family bedrooms were on the other side of the second floor from the public areas. Page, Blaire, and I each had a small bedroom. My room had an en suite bathroom, while Page and Blaire’s rooms were separated by their Jack and Jill bathroom that they only agreed to since they had separate vanities. I liked to spread out when I was sleeping, so I had crammed a queen-size walnut bed into the small space, opting for under-bed drawers instead of a dresser so it would fit.

  My room was cool when I went up to bed, so I grabbed an extra blanket before stretching out under my blue and white Hunter’s Star quilt to sleep with Jasper curled against my side.

  A few hours later, I woke up to the sound of shouting. Jasper was standing at the door, growling. Pulling on my fluffy purple robe, I closed Jasper in the bedroom and hurried upstairs to see what was going on. One of the pretty college students stood facing the Prestons’ nanny, who was hissing at them about the importance of a growing boy’s sleep.