Inn Over Her Head

  Inn Over Her Head

  DUSKY COVE BOOKS

  © 2018 Dixie Davis

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  OTHER BOOKS BY DIXIE DAVIS

  1. Inn Over Her Head

  2. Inn Trouble

  3. Inn Vain

  4. Inn Dire Straits

  Coming Soon in the Dusky Cove B&B Cozy Mystery Series

  5. Inn Danger

  Be sure to join Dixie’s mailing list to be the first to know about her new releases! Also get fun bonuses including recipes from this book, a tourist’s guide to Dusky Cove, book recommendations and more!

  http://www.dixiedavisauthor.com/newsletter/

  For Hayden

  So you can finally read my books

  Inn Over Her Head

  Cover

  Front Matter

  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

  Thank you for reading!

  More from Dixie Davis

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  There was no more perfect place on earth than Dusky Cove. Lori Keyes got out of her car, collected her bag and stared up at the white Colonial house with a double-decker porch. Her very own bed and breakfast, right on the riverfront. She walked up the steps and settled in a rocking chair to take in the view of the stately old oaks and the Cape Fear River beyond. If she craned her neck, she imagined she could almost see the Atlantic.

  This was her home now. Her life. Her job — and her first guest to take care of all by herself would arrive today.

  Lori took a deep breath to quiet her nerves. She’d spent two weeks “shadowing” the previous owner here at the Mayweather House, so she was ready to hit the ground running.

  She headed in and made a quick check of the parlor. The ornate wood trims and heavy, floral fabrics weren’t really her style — they looked like they belonged in 1980 instead of today, in 2010 — but everything deserved at least a chance. Except maybe the dark maroon on the walls.

  At least nothing was out of place. Still, tidying would help keep anxiety at bay. Lori set down her bag and made a quick sweep with a dust cloth. She purposefully didn’t look in the mirror. No need to see her reflection that would only remind her she was almost fifty, not twenty.

  She made sure the trash cans were empty before she headed up to the Sunset Beach Room. She’d definitely keep the room names, after nearby towns along the ocean — and she’d even update the décor inside to match the theme. Except maybe the Bald Head Island Suite. How was she supposed to decorate that one?

  Since the Sunset Beach Room was the first occupancy she was handling on her own, Lori figured it was the best spot to start adding her own touch to the place. She stopped by the office to grab the box of décor she’d collected over the last couple weeks especially for this room.

  On her way to the stairs, she picked up the bag she’d brought home. The previous Tuesday, she’d snuck away for a few minutes in the evening to snap a photograph of the Sunset Beach pier at sunset. The local pharmacy photo shop had blown it up, and she’d picked up the perfect frame after dropping off the Owenses at the airport in Wilmington this morning.

  Hopefully, the wall wasn’t faded or stained around the picture she was replacing. Lori took down the poster of tropical fish — the wall looked good — and hung up her addition to the room. She took a step back, straightened it again, then admired her work.

  This B&B was all hers now. She couldn’t wait to show her boys — but, of course, Doug would have to arrange time off and travel, and Adam was studying abroad.

  Glenn, of course, already knew. Owning a B&B had been a dream of his, too, and fulfilling it for both of them made this doubly satisfying, even if it had taken almost everything that was left of his life insurance money plus thirteen years of interest.

  Yes, Glenn would’ve approved of this, from Dusky Cove to the Mayweather House to this photo in the Sunset Beach Room.

  Once she’d added the rest of her little touches to the room, Lori made sure the towels embroidered with seashells were in the bathroom, the trash cans were empty and the pillows were fluffed before she lugged the box of old décor out. Maybe the gift shop across the street would give her a couple bucks for the stuff. They seemed to like unusual things.

  As she reached the main hallway, she finally heard it: a bell ringing.

  The bell in the parlor.

  She froze. Her guest was early — and Lori was late to greet her.

  Lori stuffed the box into the linen closet and rushed down the stairs. “I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed before she was even in the parlor. “I wasn’t expecting you quite yet.”

  A woman with a blunt, blonde bob stood on the other side of the screen door, still tapping the bell even though she was staring directly at Lori. Or glaring at her.

  “Welcome to the Mayweather House,” Lori said. She wished she didn’t feel so breathless. “Are you Mrs. Vogel?”

  “Unfortunately,” the woman muttered.

  Lori flinched — that didn’t sound good.

  “Where are the Owenses?” Mrs. Vogel asked.

  “Oh, I thought we told all our guests: the Owenses just left for their retirement. I’m the new owner. Lori Keyes.” She offered her hand.

  Mrs. Vogel looked from Lori’s hand to her face and back. “And is this your retirement?”

  Lori choked on her shock. Did she really look fifteen years older than she was? “Not ready for retirement, but I hope it’ll be a change of pace from life in Charlotte.”

  Mrs. Vogel shrugged. “I’m not from around here.”

  Charlotte wasn’t nearby, and who hadn’t heard of one of the largest cities in the country? “That’s all right, I’m sure you came here to get away.”

  “Exactly.” Mrs. Vogel’s ice-blue eyes drifted away for only a second, but it spoke volumes. She was trying to get away from something.

  Compassion welled up in Lori. Maybe it was “unfortunate” that she was Mrs. Vogel because she’d lost her husband and needed to get away from all the reminders of him in their house. Lori understood that completely. “Can I get you a snack or a Coke?”

  “I’d like my room,” Mrs. Vogel snapped.

  Lori found her defenses flaring, but tried to rein them in. Mrs. Vogel could be grieving. “Of course. I was just getting it ready for you.” Lori ducked into the office and retrieved the keys. “Do you need two sets?” she asked.

  Mrs. Vogel shot her another icy look. “One.”

  Rude — but Lori reminded herself that rudeness was probably to hide her pain. Again. “Let me get your bag.”

  For once, Mrs. Vogel didn’t object, and let Lori haul the heavy suitcase upstairs to the Sunset Beach Room.

  Lori had only reached the door when Mrs. Vogel groaned from inside the room. “What happened here?”

  Lori hurried two steps to ca
tch up, and looked around in alarm. What could have gone wrong? Everything looked like it had five minutes ago. “What’s the matter?” she asked.

  “Was this room even cleaned? The last guest left their souvenirs.” Mrs. Vogel pointed at the glass display bowl Lori had set up with sand and large, whole sand dollars.

  “No, that’s part of the room now.”

  “And this tacky drugstore souvenir?” Mrs. Vogel threw a hand in the direction of Lori’s photograph.

  “I took that picture myself, actually.” Lori tried extra hard to practice patience.

  Mrs. Vogel pointed at the new throw pillows made from fabric that looked red from one direction and orange from the other. “And the bed looks like a high school prom dress got upcycled.”

  Lori winced. That was a term she hadn’t heard before, but it definitely didn’t sound like a compliment. “I’d be happy to take the pillows out if they bother you.”

  “I hope you’re not planning on changing everything like this,” Mrs. Vogel muttered.

  Lori forced herself to smile. “I think it’s fun to change things up from time to time. Keeps the place fresh.”

  “Fun?” Mrs. Vogel snorted. “I’ll be sure to mention that in my review online.”

  Beth Owens had been adamant with Lori: never, ever read online reviews. The good ones left you complacent and the bad ones left you crushed. Still, a shudder ran through Lori, and she looked around at her other changes. The subtle, weathered whitewash of the photo frame echoed the furniture in the room, and the pillows against the tan bedspread looked like a sunset against the sand. She’d replaced the chintzy iron anchor from the side table with a vase of pink flowers from their yard. Finally, the real starfish display that was a bit past its prime had been switched out for a simpler mirror.

  Lori quite liked the effect, but she had to admit that sometimes she fell in love with an idea and ran with it without thinking things through. Maybe she’d done that here. “I’m happy to take out anything that’s bothering you.”

  Mrs. Vogel waited for Lori to retrieve the old décor and switch the room back to its old self, practically tapping her foot. Then Mrs. Vogel — didn’t the woman have a first name? — flicked her wrist, dismissing Lori.

  Rude. Not that Lori was trying to find an excuse to hang out with the woman, but the personal touch was supposed to be the appeal of a B&B. “If you need me, my number’s by the phone, and—”

  “I’ve stayed here before. I know the drill.”

  “I’ll be going out for dinner, but I’ll leave a note before I go, so you can find me.” Wait, was that too much information to share? Telling a guest that level of detail might backfire. There was personal, and then there was too personal.

  That was a balance she’d have to find.

  “Thanks.” Mrs. Vogel snatched her suitcase from Lori’s hands and gave her another wrist flick.

  By the time Lori made it downstairs to the office, her phone was already ringing. “Mayweather House,” she answered. “Innkeeper Lori—”

  “It’s dawn,” the caller cut her off.

  Lori glanced around. It was the middle of the afternoon. Not dawn. What had she missed? “No, it’s three fifteen.”

  “No, Dawn Vogel? In the Sunset Beach Room?” She didn’t tack on an are you stupid?, but her tone rendered the insult moot.

  “Of course. Sorry. What can I do for you?”

  “Get these flowers out of here. They’re wreaking havoc with my allergies. I might have to change rooms.”

  Lori mentally kicked herself. She should have thought of that. “I’ll be up right away.”

  Lori was back up the stairs in seconds to remove the offending rhododendron blooms.

  “Not the way Beth did it,” Dawn Vogel muttered.

  Lori managed not to glare at her, but smiled instead and carried the vase out. They’d look extra nice on her desk. Right next to the mess.

  She set down the vase and sighed at the paperwork problems. Her innkeeping mentors had already walked her though this. She knew she could do it. She just didn’t want to.

  Lori got to work tackling those problems — until a pair of warm hands slipped over her eyes. Her stomach slid toward her shoes.

  “Guess who,” an equally warm voice said.

  Oh! Dawn wasn’t the only one who was early. At least Lori hoped these were Joey’s hands.

  Two could play this teasing game. “Um, is this Doug?”

  “Your son sneaks up behind you like this?”

  “Then Adam?”

  “Your other son.” The incredulity in his voice increased.

  Lori pretended to contemplate the possibilities for a long moment. “Sorry, I can’t think of anyone else who’d walk into my house—”

  “It’s a hotel.”

  “It’s a bed and breakfast,” she corrected quickly. “And this is my private office.” She pointed behind her in the direction, she hoped, of the door, which was marked PRIVATE.

  “Well, if there’s nobody else you’d allow back here, I guess there’s nobody here I’m taking to dinner.”

  “Is that you, Bobby?”

  Behind her, Joey scoffed, but his offense was clearly overplayed. He finally removed his hands from her eyes. “How many boyfriends do you have, lady?”

  “One more than I deserve, apparently.” She turned around and Joey slid his arms around her waist.

  “Hi, there,” he said, with that smile that melted her knees like chocolate on a summer day.

  “Hi, yourself.”

  “I’m looking for a date to the Salty Dog tonight. Any guests available?”

  “’Fraid not.” She tried to hide her disappointment. On the phone yesterday, he’d dangled the promise of something special in front of her. She liked the kitschy restaurant down the street, but their usual dinner spot was not “special.”

  Joey sighed. “Wish I could take my girlfriend, but looks like she’s waiting for somebody named Bobby.”

  Lori hooked her hands behind his neck. How had she been so lucky to find this man — twelve years her junior, curly dark hair, rakishly handsome — on an innkeepers’ mailing list? “I haven’t seen your girlfriend either. Do you have a picture or anything?”

  “No, but she’s about your height, medium build, blonde hair—” He leaned closer and dropped to a whisper. “— with more than a touch of silver.”

  Was she that gray? Lori teased back to hide her hurt. “Sounds like a lot of Dusky Cove.”

  “And her smile lights up a room. And if anybody has a problem or needs someone to talk to, they seek her out like she’s wearing a homing beacon. Or she’s the Bald Head Island Lighthouse.”

  Lori laughed, warmth rising to her cheeks. He’d noticed that about her? Right, he’d teased her after a trip to the grocery store last weekend when a poor old man whose wife had cancer had . . . well, not exactly cornered her, but opened up to her while they were in line. And then she’d stayed there talking for another half hour.

  “I’ll have to keep an eye out,” Lori said.

  “Appreciate it.” Joey smirked and Lori gave him a quick kiss. “Until she turns up, how’d you like to keep me company?”

  “I think I can do that.”

  Joey let her go and offered his arm to her — he was such a gentleman — but before she could take it, her phone rang again. This time she remembered to check the display on the cordless: the Sunset Beach Room. “Hello, Dawn,” she said with as much warmth as she could muster.

  “I need a wake-up call at five sharp.”

  Oy. “Will do,” she chirped, as if she were a songbird that was always up that early. “Any requests for breakfast?”

  Truth be told, Lori was looking forward to sharing a meal with her. Maybe Dawn was grumpy because she was hungry, and everyone needed to unburden themselves sometimes.

  “Yes, I’d like it in my room.”

  So much for that fantasy. “Certainly. At five?”

  “No,” she said in that same icy, are-you-stupid tone.
“Six thirty.”

  “You got it. Talk to you at five, if not sooner. I’m going to dinner at the Salty Dog, by the way.”

  Dawn hmphed into the phone and hung up. Lori sighed and leaned across the desk to place the phone on the charger. Unfortunately, her belly shifted a pile on the desk, but she leaped to catch it before it tumbled to the ground. “This mess,” she muttered.

  “Let me help you,” Joey said. He pulled the pile back until it was stable on the desk.

  “Thanks.”

  “I mean it — let me help you. I know how to do it.” He gestured at the mountain of paperwork. Some of it he could surely do. He worked at a much larger inn that used much of the same software.

  “That’d be great. Feeling a little overwhelmed.”

  Joey offered his arm again. “I bet. Owning your own place isn’t easy, but man, the freedom? That’s got to feel good. Enough to make a hotel manager pretty jealous, anyway.”

  Freedom wasn’t the right word for a job that had you on call at any hour, but there was definitely pride of ownership. The prettiest historic home in the prettiest little town all up and down the North Carolina coast was hers now. Of course he was jealous!

  At the Salty Dog, they took a corner table. An old shad boat and a worn fishing net were mounted on the wall above their favorite spot. Their favorite dish at the restaurant completed the ambiance: two bowls of Brunswick stew with hush puppies. The fried corn batter was the perfect side for the thick tomato-based stew. Lori stirred her bowl, relishing the smell of the pepper and the vinegar of the Eastern Carolina style barbeque pulled pork. The perfectly soft potatoes, sweet corn, and soft beans complemented the shredded meat. The menu joked that, as it was made here in Brunswick County, that meant they had to follow the original recipe and use squirrel meat, but Lori was pretty sure squirrel didn’t taste quite that much like pork.

  They were almost done when a shadow fell across their table. Lori looked up — right at Dawn Vogel. “I’ve been calling you for more than half an hour,” she snapped, loud enough for the next table — and every other table in the place — to hear.