INN FOR MURDER

  A WILDFLOWER INN MYSTERY BOOK 1

  HARPER LIN

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  INN FOR MURDER

  Copyright © 2023 by Harper Lin.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the author.

  www.harperlin.com

  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

  About the Author

  A Note From Harper

  Excerpt from “Inn Too Deep”

  CHAPTER 1

  I had only been working at the Wildflower Inn for three days when I walked into the restaurant to find a dead body sprawled out on the floor. As the new reservation manager, my job was to ensure guests were satisfied, but here I was, standing in shock over a corpse, wondering what on earth had happened to upset a guest this much.

  The restaurant, empty during mid-afternoon, was located in the basement of the inn, a stone mill heritage estate. When the candles were lit and the mood lighting turned on, it transformed into a romantic space. But even before I discovered the body, I couldn’t ignore the strange new atmosphere that permeated the room—a cellar, really. The air was heavy with a sense of unease, as if the walls themselves were harboring some terrible secret.

  I had been walking over to the comfortable leather couch facing the unlit fireplace, where guests usually gathered for cocktails and socializing before dinner. Though my break was only twenty minutes, I figured a quick catnap on the gingham cushions would be worth it since I’d been up so early. That’s when I nearly stumbled over what, at first glance, looked like two giant sacks of potatoes.

  My gaze fell to the floor. I screamed and staggered back. It was practically soundproof down there; I was sure no one could hear me. Lying on the floor was a body, eyes still wide open and unfocused. He wore a crisp-looking white linen suit and a pale blue dress shirt. No wounds were visible, but the way his body lay showed all too clearly that he was no longer alive.

  I immediately recognized him. Caleb McAllister, an elderly white-haired man with deep-set wrinkles along his tanned face. He had just checked in at the inn yesterday.

  My panic escalated as I tried to make sense of what had happened. I knew it was best to immediately leave and find help, but my curiosity took hold, and I couldn’t resist taking a closer look at the body.

  That’s when I noticed something odd: clenched in Caleb’s fingers was a piece of paper. It could have been a suicide note or something explaining his death—whatever it was, it seemed important enough for him to keep it with him until the very end.

  I carefully grabbed the top of the paper with the tips of my fingers and pried it free. On one side was a drawing in bluepoint pen, some weird doodle containing a series of lines and two circles. When I turned the note around, I gasped. The handwriting was shaky, but I could make out the message: “Beware of the Amandes,” it said.

  My heart dropped. I had met the inn’s owners, the Amandes family, just two weeks before. Stella Amandes was the matriarch of the family. Mostly retired, she still puttered around doing odd jobs. She was the one who had hired me. I’d also met her two sons, both around my age. Both handsome. Max was the inn’s general manager, officially my boss, while Jesse was one of the inn’s two cooks.

  Max had chiseled features and dark brown hair that he kept neatly styled. He had a brooding demeanor and a commanding presence. On the few occasions I witnessed it, his charming smile could light up a room. Despite his position as my boss, he was approachable, always ready to lend a helping hand.

  Jesse had a more laid-back demeanor. Sandy blond hair fell messily over his forehead, and a mischievous twinkle filled his blue eyes. He was always cracking jokes and making the kitchen staff laugh. But beneath his carefree exterior, there was a sharp intelligence and a determination to make the restaurant the best it could be.

  I had noticed that the Amandes family had a certain allure that seemed to capture the attention of everyone they came into contact with. They were sophisticated yet friendly, but I also detected something mysterious beneath their polished exterior.

  As I stood there, holding the note in my hand, I couldn’t help but wonder what it meant. Did the Amandes family have something to do with Caleb’s death? Or was someone else involved?

  I knew I couldn’t stand around contemplating the situation for much longer. I had to alert the police about the body. I quickly ran to the back office and grabbed the phone, dialing 911 with shaking fingers.

  As I waited for the operator to pick up, my mind raced with other possible suspects. Was it a jealous ex-lover of Caleb? Or a business rival with a grudge? Perhaps another guest at the inn? I didn’t know the man at all, and the possibilities seemed endless.

  After several rings, an operator finally answered. I stuttered my way through the explanation, pausing every few words to collect my thoughts and steady my breath. I quickly relayed the awful situation: a body, a crime scene, the location. The operator offered reassurance that help was coming soon and warned me not to touch anything. Too late for that, I thought.

  Finally, I hung up the phone and exhaled deeply, attempting to relieve just a fraction of the tension tightening my body. As I turned around, though, it felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room. Standing directly before me was Max—silent, still, ominously looming over me. He seemed frozen in time, watching me with those dark blue eyes.

  “What’s going on?” Max asked.

  I hesitated for a moment, unsure of how much to reveal. But I knew I needed to tell him. “There’s been a death,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

  Max’s eyes widened in shock. “What kind of death?”

  I swallowed hard, feeling a lump form in my throat. “A guest,” I said. “Downstairs in the restaurant.”

  “What? Who?” he demanded.

  “It’s Caleb McAllister,” I said, studying Max’s reaction.

  “Caleb? The new guest?”

  “I found him just a few minutes ago,” I said. “The police are on their way.”

  I continued watching him carefully. I wondered if I should tell him about the note, but I decided not to. It was best to wait for the police before I started speculating.

  Max’s jaw clenched as he processed the news. “I’ll call Jesse and get him to round up the kitchen staff and keep them out of the restaurant,” he said, his voice firm. “We don’t want to contaminate the crime scene.”

  I nodded, grateful for his quick thinking. “I’ll tell any staff I see. Stella too if she’s back from town.”

  Max stood before the stairs leading down to the restaurant to block it until the police came. It was fortunate that most guests were out and about this time of day.

  The police arrived with sirens blaring. So much for discretion. I went outside to receive them.

  CHAPTER 2

  As the detective stepped out of the car and approached me, I couldn’t help but feel a flutter in my stomach.

  Detective J.T. Connor had a commanding presence that set him apart from the other officers. Tall and broad-shouldered, he towered over most people. He had a strong jawline, and wavy jet-black hair that was neatly combed and gelled. His well-tailored suit hugged his muscular frame, adding to his imposing presence. A small scar ran above his left eyebrow, a testament to years of experience on the force. His intense green eyes seemed to miss nothing.

  He flashed me a brief smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

  “Do you work here?”

  I nodded and introduced myself as Sophie, explaining that I was the one who had called. The police officer beside him scribbled it down in a small notepad. I tried to ignore the wave of dread that washed over me as I explained again what had happened: how I had found the dead guest with a note on him. I added a little fib, saying that I initially thought it had been a suicide note, so I’d picked it up to read it before leaving it beside him. I left out the detail about prying the note out of the dead man’s clutch.

  Detective Connor’s gaze felt like needles on my skin as he pressed for more details, but somehow I managed to keep my composure and answer his questions. Afterward, I couldn’t help feeling guilty—had I really just tampered with evidence and lied about it?

  Once he heard enough, Detective Connor went down to the basement with his team. Max was allowed to go down with them. I stayed with the detective’s associate, the police officer taking notes, as he clarified the details I gave.

  After I finished and the officer accompanied the group down in the restaurant, I waited in the lobby, not knowing what else to do but wait for the police to finish their investigation. I felt like I was in a detective novel.

  The inn was occupi
ed by a quiet stillness. It was a far cry from my first couple of days of work when laughter and conversation filled every corner, along with the smell of freshly baked bread wafting in from the kitchen.

  The atmosphere now was intense, and my brain couldn’t stop spinning with questions. What if I got fired because of this situation? Even worse—what if I ended up a suspect in Caleb’s murder somehow? Did it look bad that I stayed to read the note, leaving behind my fingerprints on the paper? Not to mention how guilty I felt for potentially ruining the police’s chances of finding the set of fingerprints belonging to the real killer.

  But then again, why would Caleb’s killer give him a note warning him to be careful of the Amandes?

  I concluded that the note was unlikely from the killer. Maybe the killer wanted the note and struggled to get it. It was all so mysterious.

  After a while, several men in blue latex gloves came upstairs with Caleb’s body in a black bag, then loaded it into the back of an ambulance that had come without the fanfare of sirens.

  When the police officers finished their work hours later, the detective gave me a quick nod of acknowledgment. I smiled back weakly. Max came to me looking bewildered.

  "The Wildflower Inn is shutting down," he told me.

  "What?"

  He quickly clarified. "Only temporarily, of course. Until the police finish their investigation," he said, his voice low. "They think Caleb might have been choked to death, but they have to confirm it with some tests. But this inn is officially a crime scene."

  "But what about the guests? Do we ask them to leave?"

  “The police are going to do background checks on all of them, but for now, they’re going to have to find another inn to stay in. The restaurant will be closed, and we won’t be checking in any more guests. We’ll have to start calling any guests coming in this week and help them connect with one of the other inns in town too.”

  I nodded, feeling the weight of the situation beginning to settle in. “What about us? Are we suspects?”

  “No,” Max said firmly. “We all have alibis. We weren’t downstairs when it happened, so there’s no reason to think we were involved in any way.” He paused for a moment before continuing. “But like I said, the police might want to talk to us if they need more information.”

  I nodded, feeling a little reassured. But there was still the matter of that note, a warning about the Amandes. I bit my lip.

  Max looked thoughtful. “We’ll have to be tactful about this with guests. We don’t want to cause any unnecessary panic.”

  I nodded again, feeling a little overwhelmed by the situation.

  “It’s okay,” he said. “We can keep working on what we can do to get the guests sorted while we try not to think about it too much.”

  It being the murder.

  Easier said than done, I thought. The Wildflower Inn had always been a peaceful, tranquil place, but now it felt like a dark cloud had descended upon it.

  Jesse came running in the front door. He was carrying a bag of groceries. He still hadn’t changed into his chef’s uniform yet and was wearing his usual James Dean-ish ensemble of blue jeans and a white T-shirt.

  “I saw all the police cars on the road and an ambulance. What happened?”

  Max made hand gestures to keep his voice low. He calmly explained what had happened and how I had discovered the body. Then he shared the details of what the police had said.

  Jesse dropped the groceries and came over to me. He placed a comforting hand on my shoulder.

  “Hey,” he murmured softly. “You look shaken. Are you okay?”

  “It’s unbelievable...I just don’t understand what happened.”

  He pulled me into an embrace and whispered calmingly in my ear. “It’ll be okay.” When he stood back, he shook his head. “It’s only your third day on the job, right? I promise, this is not something that happens often.”

  I looked over Jesse’s shoulder and saw Max with his arms crossed over his chest. He was staring at us with a hard expression, as if he was not impressed with the display of affection. For a moment, I thought he was going to say something, but he didn’t. Instead, he turned and walked out of the lobby, past the reception, out into the back gardens.

  CHAPTER 3

  As evening rolled around, I found myself sitting alone in my room, unable to shake the sense of unease that had settled over the inn. Stella was graciously allowing me to stay in an unoccupied guest room until I found my own apartment. Having moved to Sierra Hills right after landing the job, I was still familiarizing myself with the town.

  Perched by the window, gazing out at the vineyards behind the inn, I felt a sense of awe at the natural beauty of the place. It was very different from where I lived before, in a bustling city that never slept, where streets were perpetually filled with people, while buildings towered over them.

  Sierra Hills, on the other hand, was a quaint town known for its vineyards and charming architecture. Life moved at a slower pace here, with rolling hills, rows of grapevines stretching into the distance, fresh air, and streets lined with cozy shops and quaint cafes. The people here were always friendly and welcoming, creating a genuine sense of community that I had never experienced before. From farmers’ markets to local festivals, there was always something going on. The Wildflower Inn stood at the heart of it all, and I felt privileged to be a part of it. Sierra Hills was a popular tourist destination, particularly during the harvest season when the vineyards were at their peak. It was a place where people came to relax, unwind, and revel in the simple pleasures of life. Despite my short time here, it already felt like home.

  However, with the murder investigation casting a shadow over everything, the feeling of comfort and safety had been replaced with danger and suspicion. Lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, I wondered what the future held for me and for Sierra Hills. Would the inn ever regain its former charm, or would the memory of the murder always overshadow it?

  Despite the uneasiness, I couldn’t deny the town’s beauty and charm. As I looked out the window, the sun setting over the vineyards cast a warm orange glow over everything.

  My thoughts drifted to my ex-boyfriend, Ansel. The breakup was still fresh. We had met at my old job working at a four-star hotel in the city. For the first four months, we had been inseparable. At first, everything had been perfect. We shared similar interests and dreams. I fell in love fast.

  Gradually, things started to change. Ansel became more possessive and controlling. He disapproved of my relationships with friends and colleagues. He often checked my phone, scrutinized my emails, and reprimanded me for going out without him, even on simple errands. Attempts to talk and reason with him always ended in fights. Although I tried to leave him once, he begged me to come back, promising to change. For a while, he did change, but eventually, he slipped back into his old ways.

  The breaking point came when I caught him kissing a new coworker in the break room. Devastated but also relieved, I took the opportunity to move out of the tiny apartment we shared and break up with him for good. Nevertheless, Ansel wouldn’t leave me alone. I was bombarded with constant calls, texts, unannounced visits to my friend’s apartment where I was temporarily staying. He even followed me sometimes to my new job at a competing hotel.

  After some struggle, I managed to get a restraining order to keep Ansel away from me. However, the emotional scars ran deep. Trust and insecurity lingered when it came to men, even though I had moved five states away from him.

  Ansel haunted my nightmares and sometimes in waking life like a threatening shadow in the corner of my eye that disappeared whenever I tried to discern its shape.

  Shaking my head to clear my troubled thoughts, I reaffirmed to myself that Ansel belonged to the past.