Loco Motive: A Bed-and-Breakfast Mystery - By Mary Daheim Page 0,16
toolshed. She’d considered breaking the news about the Boston trip to Gertrude, but changed her mind at the last minute. It wasn’t just putting up with the old lady’s predictable complaints about her daughter abandoning her for such a long time, but that her mother would blab the news to Mike and Kristin.
The early part of the morning was typically busy. Kristin volunteered to help with the guests’ breakfast. Judith accepted the offer, but pointed out that the menu was already planned. Kristin could help by setting up the serving area in the dining room. Judith sensed that her daughter-in-law was put off by the request. Having quickly accomplished the task, Kristin remarked that the curtains in the family quarters needed washing. Judith hadn’t argued, but Phyliss pitched a fit.
“Your son’s wife should keep her nose out of my business,” she griped as the Alaskan quartet and the Tennessee couple were finishing their meal. “I’ve got a system and a schedule. Those curtains shouldn’t be washed until the third week of November. Come next May, everything will be higgly-piggly.”
“Let her do it. Kristin isn’t happy unless she’s busy,” Judith said, not without sympathy for Phyliss.
“Then she ought to be all smiles, which is more than I can say for some of your paying guests. From what I’ve seen of them this morning, they’re a grumpy bunch. Too much noise during the night. Maybe Miss Know-It-All was running the vacuum in the wee small hours.”
“It was probably the wind.” Judith cocked an ear in the direction of the dining room.
“The Canadians just came downstairs. I should greet them.”
Right behind the Gauthiers was Libby Pruitt, a Northwestern University lit professor on sabbatical. Judith hadn’t been able to visit much with Ms. Pruitt, who’d checked in late Tuesday and was due to check out Friday morning. The guests already at the table greeted Judith as they made way for the newcomers.
Gauthier père studied the offerings on the sideboard that had been installed the previous winter by Judith’s handyman, the ageless and energetic Skjoval Tolvang. “No omelets?” he exclaimed in something akin to shock.
“Chill, Papa,” Gauthier fils said softly. “The scrambled eggs look great.”
“Tomorrow,” Judith said, “my husband is making his Joe’s Special. It’s not exactly an omelet, but our guests always rave about…”
A blond head loomed over the half doors to the kitchen. “Omelets coming up!” Kristin cried. “Three minutes!”
Judith’s smile was strained. “The ham and two kinds of sausage are excellent. Try the blueberry pancakes and the Belgian waffles. Everyone always seems to enjoy them.”
Steve Gauthier shot Judith an amused glance. “My father likes waffles. Don’t you, Papa?”
The older man uttered a little grunt. “They are fine. Usually.” His son had already filled his plate. “The whipped cream’s homemade and the strawberries are fresh, not frozen.”
“In October?” Mr. Gauthier was incredulous. “How can that be?” Judith was flummoxed. She had no idea where Falstaff’s got their berries during fall and winter. For all she knew, the store manager grew them in his bathtub. “Australia? Chile? Our grocer flies in items from all over the world.”
Mr. Gauthier poured his orange juice. “Ah! Real oranges. Excellent.”
Judith started for the kitchen to see what the overzealous Kristin was up to, but a clearing of the throat by Libby Pruitt caught her attention. “Yes?” Judith said, realizing that Ms. Pruitt remained in the dining-room doorway.
“May I have a word, please?” she asked in a low voice.
“Of course,” Judith said, noting that her guest’s pale face looked worried. “Shall we go into the living room?”
“That’s not necessary.” Libby Pruitt had moved into the entry hall and stopped by the powder room. She was tall and slim, close to six feet in her low-heeled shoes. “This morning I dropped one of my contact lenses by the window.” She made a face. “It was for my left eye, which is considerably worse than my right. I’m farsighted, so I literally had to feel for it. I finally moved the braided rug at the foot of the bed—and found this.” She opened her right hand to reveal a plain gold band in her palm. “It’s engraved. Perhaps a previous guest didn’t realize the ring was missing until after checking out.”
Judith plucked up the ring and peered at the tiny markings. “It looks too big for a woman, but you never know. I can’t see this without a magnifier.”
Libby smiled. “Once I found my contact, I could read what turned out to be initials. They’re RK, an ampersand, and JG. There’s