wait until tomorrow. He’d tried going back to her house, but she was nowhere to be found.
From what he could tell, the only place to stay in town was a bed-and-breakfast. Minutes later, he pulled up in front of a big Victorian house.
Even in the waning light, the house all but glowed under its layers of paint. Purple—and all its various shades—overpowered the entire three stories. A large sign was pounded into the front yard: Murphy’s Bed-and-Breakfast. Except someone had drawn an arrow before the word breakfast and inked in the word occasional. Murphy’s Bed-and-occasional- Breakfast.
He knocked on the front door. A few moments later, a loud “Door’s open,” came from inside, and he walked in.
Inside, every square inch was crammed with something either gilded, cherubed, or just plain ugly, but he’d spent nights in places a hell of a lot worse than this.
“May I help you?”
Jared hadn’t heard the woman approach. A rarity for him. She was short, barely five feet. Her head was a mass of tight white curls, and an apron was tied around her round waist. With her bright, cheerful expression and age somewhere in the old lady territory, she put him in mind of Mrs. Claus.
“Mrs. Murphy?” he asked, remembering the name from the sign out front.
“Call me Lovie, dear. Everybody does.”
He shifted the duffel bag. “I’m here about a room.”
She dusted her hands off on her apron and shot him a broad smile. “Well, you’re in luck. I just had a cancellation, so Clark Gable’s available.”
“Excuse me?”
“Clark Gable.” A dreamy, faraway look crossed over her wrinkled features. “Each room is named after one of my favorite movie stars.” She sighed. “Let’s see. There’s Errol Flynn . . . Cary Grant . . . Rock Hudson . . . Gary Cooper, and of course Clark.” Another sigh. “You’ll be sleeping with him.”
Not hardly. “You sure you don’t have any Rita Hayworths? Marilyn Monroes?” he asked with a grin.
She gave a deep laugh, sending her ample girth bouncing. “Nope. Just my boys. Now, how many nights will you be needing the room?”
“Just one.”
She nodded and motioned for him to follow. At the foot of the long, oak staircase, she paused and faced him. “I could let you have the room for two nights, but that’s it.”
He expected to be stampeded by all the guests at any moment. “Just tonight.”
“If you’re sure . . .”
He had to admire her persistence. It was probably the only thing that kept the purple mausoleum afloat. “I’m sure.”
“If you change your mind, you just let me know.” She grabbed ahold of the thick, carved banister and hoisted herself up the first step. “Come on then, and I’ll show you to Mr. Gable.”
There was something just plain wrong about that sentence.
The staircase was tall and narrow. Hiking his duffel higher on his shoulder, he followed her shuffling feet. Forcing his eyes away from downstairs, he glanced to the wall on his right and found himself face-to-face with dozens of pictures. If the sheer number wasn’t weird enough, then what was in the frames—or not in them as the case may be—was enough to seriously creep a person out. Someone had systematically gone through and massacred them.
He felt Mrs. Claus’s eyes on him. “Nice photos.”
“My family,” she said with a sad shake of her head. “Reprobates, every last one of ’em. I told ’em if they didn’t straighten out, I was going to get rid of them. My brother Bob thought I was joking.” She cackled and motioned to what had obviously once been a family photo of a man, his wife, and three children. But the man’s head was now only a hacked-out memory, and all that remained of him was an arm wrapped around his wife’s shoulder. “He was the first to go.” She cackled again and pointed out several more frames. “Then came my brother Doug, my sister Martha, sister Delle . . .”
The wedding pictures were the worst. A bride. A groom. But never both in the same photo. Jared was sure he heard the theme music from Psycho.
He was seriously rethinking his whole Mrs. Claus comparison.
“That’s why I can’t rent you the room for more than two days. At the end of the week, I’ll be heading out to the family reunion.”
“But I thought—”
Lovie Murphy stopped dead in her tracks and turned to face him. “Just ’cuz I can’t stand my family doesn’t mean I’m gonna miss the reunion.”