Book 2: New Year's Slay
Autorzy
Harper Lin
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29,1K
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14
Chapter 1
If I hadn’t known any better, I would’ve thought that Martha Owens got staked through the heart by a vampire slayer. That was the first thought that came into my mind when I saw her limp body on the ground in the Sweet Dreams Inn. But it wasn’t a wooden stake through her heart; it was simply the largest knitting needle I had ever seen. It stuck right out from her chest while blood stained the lower part of the needle, along with a good portion of her lavender cardigan set.
“Oh my god,” I gasped.
A police officer stepped in front of me before I could get any closer to the body.
“Ma’am, you’re not allowed to be here.”
Before I could protest, Detective Sterling Matthews stepped forward and waved him away.
“It’s okay, Peter, she’s with me.”
Sterling smiled and winked at me. He raised his arms for a hug, but his arms went right back to his sides when he saw that I wasn’t making my move to greet him the usual way—with a big hug and a kiss on the lips.
“What a way to ring in the new year, huh?” Sterling said.
“Who would do this?” I asked.
“I was just asking your friend the same thing.”
I looked up at Nick Doyle—the movie star and my ex—standing in a corner of the living room. Eyes wide and hugging himself, he was clearly shaken.
Sterling had been questioning Nick before I showed up, which was why Nick called me right after he called his lawyer. Nick was the only guest at the inn, and the only person who saw Martha last before her death. And he was the prime suspect.
* * *
I didn’t know Martha Owens too well, but I knew of her because she owned the only inn in Hartfield. The only other lodging for visitors was a seedy motel a half hour’s drive away. Martha was also in my mom’s knitting group, but from the way my mom talked about the dynamics of the group, it didn’t sound like she was very well liked. Even Mom, who generally got along with everybody, hardly ever invited Martha over.
Funny enough, I did speak to Martha three days before she was murdered when I went to the inn to talk to Nick.
When he showed up in Hartfield on Christmas Eve, he caught me kissing Detective Sterling Matthews in front of my house. Nick and I had broken up a few weeks before and I had moved out of the New York penthouse apartment that we shared. After holing up in a hotel for a week, I decided to come home to Hartfield to spend time with my family for the holidays.
I didn’t expect to reconnect with Sterling, who was my high school sweetheart and my first love that I never completely got over, but I did and I was happy, until Nick arrived with the most beautiful diamond engagement ring I had ever seen.
I thought that Nick would go back to New York and never speak to me again after finding out that I had moved on with Sterling, but he surprised me by staying. Nick was angry at first, but he took a couple of days to cool off. He wasn’t the type to stay angry for long, and he knew that I wasn’t to blame because we had already broken up and I was under the assumption that he had already moved on with a Victoria’s Secret model thanks to the tabloids. However, it turned out that the rumors weren’t true.
I never expected Nick to come here and propose. For a while, I believed what the press said about him—that he was heading to a lifetime of bachelorhood à la Leonardo Dicaprio. I was pushing thirty and Nick hadn’t proposed after four years of living together, so I gathered my pride and my designer clothes in a suitcase and left him. But now it turned out that he did want to marry me. Practically every girl wanted to marry Nick Doyle. But I couldn’t just drop Sterling; I had feelings for him too.
As one of the biggest movie stars in the world, Nick was used to getting what he wanted. I guess when I left he realized what he had taken for granted. I had to be careful with him. Who knew if Nick really meant it? Sterling and I were starting to have a good thing going. I’d never stopped loving him. But I never stopped loving Nick either. The decision to be with Sterling had been easy when I believed that Nick didn’t love me enough. Now, I was beyond confused.
* * *
Nick called me a few days after Christmas and told me that he was still in town.
“I thought you’d be back in New York by now,” I said.
“You can’t get rid of me that easily. I waited a while to call you to get my head straight.”
“Are you mad?” I asked.
“I was, but I want to talk to you in person. Can we meet?”
I was hesitant. While we weren’t official, I was back with Sterling, but I knew that I owed Nick a face-to-face chat if he had come all the way to Hartfield with an engagement ring.
“Sure. Where are you staying?”
“The Sweet Dreams Inn.”
I stifled a laugh. Somehow I couldn’t quite picture Nick staying in Martha’s quaint little B&B when he was used to five-star accommodations. With her floral wallpaper, ornamental plates on walls, pink bed sheets and an excess of pillows and cushions, Sweat Dreams was a grandmother’s dream.
“There are no other hotels in sight,” he explained. “Where else could I stay?”
“True,” I said. “Should we meet there then?”
“Yes. There’s no one else staying here at the moment.”
“Did anyone recognize you?” I asked.
“Martha has no clue. I only told her that I was in town alone nursing a broken heart so that she’d feel sorry for me.”
“You didn’t.” I laughed.
“Now she wants to set me up with the daughters of a few of her friends.”
“Hmmm.”
“Since you’re taken, I might take her up on that offer.”
“If that’s what makes you happy,” I said.
“Glad to have your blessing,” Nick joked.
At least Nick was back to his jovial self. He was like a cat, always landing on all fours whenever he was thrown. If I stayed with Sterling, Nick would be all right. The question was, would I?
We made plans to meet at the inn for afternoon tea.
Sweet Dreams was on the outskirts of town, near the lake. It was run by Martha Owens. Ever since Martha’s divorce ten years ago, she’d been running the inn alone. Her husband had moved to Vancouver and got remarried.
Tourism had dwindled in recent years. But Martha had too much of a sentimental attachment to the inn to ever sell it. She had grown up there, and her son had grown up there as well. Maybe Martha was fine living in what was really an empty Victorian mansion.
The upside to the lack of business was that Mom’s knitting circle was welcome two times a week in the inn’s lounge, a.k.a. the living room. The group had nineteen members and the inn was one of the few places in town that could host such a large group of chatty senior ladies armed with sharp needles.
I passed by Samford Street, where the massive Christmas tree and all the decor and lights on the lampposts and shops were still up. Boxing Week was still going strong. The locals went into stores in droves and came out with more shopping bags than they had before Christmas. My sister’s cafe was as busy as ever, and I waved to her outside the window when I passed by, but she didn’t see me. I was relieved that the murder last month in her cafe hadn’t affected sales, but the whole incident was another story—something I was trying to push from memory going into the new year.
When I reached Sweet Dreams, Nick was standing on the porch waiting for me.
His dirty blond hair was neatly parted and combed, reminding me of that rockabilly character he played in one of his movies. He was tall and fit, especially coming off filming the sequel to his action film Alive or Dead. His hands were shoved deep into the pockets of his black wool jacket and he was shivering.
Even though he was thirty-three, he reminded me of a boy who needed to be taken care of, and I supposed he brought the maternal instinct out in most women, which was part of the reason why he was such a hit with them. I wanted to scold him for not wearing a scarf in December weather, yet wrap my arms around him to warm him up.
When he saw me, his blue eyes lit up and he cracked his dimpled smile that made me—and every other girl in the world—melt. I smiled back, but I really wanted to sigh in frustration. Why did he have to be so good looking?
He came down and hugged me. “I missed you.”
“Let’s go inside,” I said. “You look like you’re freezing.”
“Is it always this cold in Canada?”
“You have to ask? Winter barely just started here.”
The inn was beautiful, but in that creepy Victorian way. As a child, I used to be afraid of it because rumor had it that it was haunted. The outside was painted a dark teal with even darker window shutters. The interior was like the inside of a dollhouse. Everything was perfect and antique. Martha was in her rocking chair, knitting away. Time stopped inside that place.
When Martha saw me, she got up and greeted me.
“Beth’s daughter,” she said. “I haven’t seen you for a while. Heard you ran off to the city and became a singer.”
Martha was nearly sixty. Her curly short hair was dyed an orangey blond color and she wore bifocals that enlarged her brown eyes. I didn’t know what to make of her. She’d scared me as a child because she always seemed cranky and I was told not to get on her bad side because she had a temper. Kids always knew to stay away from her place on Halloween if they didn’t want day-old fruit and a lecture about candy causing cavities.
“I did,” I replied.
“I always saw you singing around town and now I hear you’re singing in New York?”
“That’s right.”
“I hope that you’re making a living. Are they paying you well?”
Nick and I both tried not to laugh. Martha didn’t seem to have a clue that I had two best-selling albums and a Grammy award for best album of the year.
“Yes,” I said. “They are.”
“Good.” She smiled. “Your mom said you were doing well.” Martha turned to Nick. “See, young man? I told you that there are plenty of pretty young women for you in this town. You’ll get over that nasty ex-girlfriend in no time.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
Nick chuckled nervously. “She wasn’t all that bad, Martha…”
“She sounds awful,” Martha said vehemently. “Who could break this handsome young man’s heart and jump into the arms of another young man? A floozy, that’s who.”
“She sounds horrible,” I said, not sure whether to laugh or get mad.
“You deserve better,” Martha said to Nick.
“Er, thanks.” Nick rubbed the back of his neck. “We’d like to have some tea, please.”
“Oh, sure,” said Martha. “I didn’t mean to intrude on your date. Of course. Sit yourself in the library and I’ll bring you some tea and desserts. I just made fresh blueberry scones this morning. Do you like those?”
“Yes,” we said in unison.
“Then I’ll put on the kettle and bring you everything when it’s ready.”
The library was a nook around the corner from the living room. Two walls were lined with books, mainly mystery novels and a very heavy encyclopedia set. There were three sets of tables and chairs, all empty, and we sat at one table.
“I’m sorry about that,” Nick apologized.
“So you’ve been talking about how awful I am, huh?”
“I was mad when I first saw you and that guy kissing, so I vented a bit, but—”
“It’s fine,” I said quickly. “I get it. It’s a complicated situation and I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“You know why I’m back,” Nick began. “I didn’t know that you would move out so suddenly. I mean, I really didn’t see it coming.”
“That was one of the problems,” I said slowly.
“I know, I know.” He sighed. “It’s difficult for me to have a relationship, with all the traveling that I do. I always have a million things going on.”
“Yes, well, I didn’t want to get in the way.”
Nick leaned forward on the table and took my hands. “You weren’t. I was the idiot. I realize that I took you for granted.”
His hands felt warm over my cold hands. How did he manage to warm them up so fast when he’d been freezing outside only moments earlier? I didn’t move my hands away, but I didn’t say anything either.
“I realize now that when you were talking about marriage and everything, you meant it. I was so stupid. I didn’t think you were serious because we were living together and we were happy. Or I thought we were happy. Heck, I thought I was committed because you were the first girl and only girl I’d ever lived with. Aside from my mom.”
I laughed. Nick never failed to make me smile even in serious situations.
“You have to admit that all things considered, living together was rather a big step for me.”
“But we’d been living together for four years,” I said. “For some girls, that may be enough, but I’m a traditional, small town girl. I want to get married and have kids. But aside from that, it just didn’t seem as if I was a priority in your life. All the filming, the promotional tours, the charity events—I understand that they’re all important to you, but for a while, we were roommates who hardly saw each other. I was the one flying out to you most of the time.”
“Which is why I’m here,” he said. “I’m ready to make a commitment. Come on, Emma. Please give me another chance. I love you.”
His last words seemed to echo in the little library. I had to take into consideration that he was an actor, and that he could say a line pretty well. But I also knew him well: Nick wasn’t the type to lie.
“What about those lingerie models?” I asked.
“The thing with models is that they are, well, for a lack of a better word, easy. They’re pretty and they’re fun, and I dated them when I was younger when I wasn’t looking for something complicated. But now I’m ready. I want to be in a meaningful relationship with a complicated girl. The ring is still for you. What do you say?”
If Sterling weren’t in the picture, I would’ve said yes. But I was hung up on Sterling. Most of my songs on my first album were about him. You never forgot your first love.
When it rained, it poured. Just weeks ago, I thought I was better off single because I couldn’t find a guy to commit, but now Sterling also wanted to be in a serious relationship with me. He said so on our last date.
“You know that I’m dating someone else,” I said finally.
Nick sighed. “But whoever that guy is, he’s a rebound and you know it.”
I shook my head. “He’s actually an ex-boyfriend. We’ve known each other since high school.”
“High school sweethearts, huh?” Nick’s smile fell and there was a harsher note in his voice. “Are you spending New Year’s Eve together?”
I nodded. “I’m sorry, Nick.”
On New Year’s Eve, my family was throwing a party with close friends, and Sterling was coming over. I couldn’t invite Nick too.
He looked crestfallen, but he kept his hands over mine.
“Then I’ll be here,” he said. “I’ll wait right here at this inn until you’re ready.”
“Why would you assume I’ll be ready?”
“Because you haven’t said no.”
He was right. I hadn’t said no. He still had a chance, and he knew it.
“Like I said, Emma. I’m going to fight for you this time. I don’t care who this guy is, and how long you’ve known each other. You love me and I love you. It’s as simple as that.”
I wasn’t so sure about that. I never knew love to be so simple, and that belief was evident in my songs.
