Free Checking Inn by Emily Harper Page B

you through everything in person.”
    “No!“ I say, nearly jumping out of my seat.  Ben turns to look at me, studying my face, and I attempt to smile at him.  “Things are very busy here at the moment.  Maybe we could set up a time in the next few weeks?”
    “Sure, just let me know what works.”
    I say goodbye and slowly replace the receiver.
    This is not good.  This is  really  not good.
    If the police find out that we took out an insurance policy when we are on the brink of bankruptcy…
    And then Samantha shows up dead…
    Okay, I am going to have to buy my inhalers in bulk from now on.
    “Everything okay?” Ben asks, still studying me.
    “Absolutely!” I try to sound normal but I can hear the strain in my voice.
    Why would my mother do this?  Why would she take out an insurance policy in the event that a guest dies? 
    Having said that, she did get shark coverage.
    But, why wouldn’t she mention it to me?
    “I… umm… I just have to pop out for a minute,” I say to Ben before turning around to grab my purse and coat.
    “Is something wrong?  You’re a bit pale and your face is twitching,” he says.
    “No it’s not,” I wave away his concerns. “I just have something in my eye.”
    “Do you want me to drive you?” he asks.
    “No!” I yell and have to remind myself to calm down.  “No, thank you.  I won’t be long and I’m sure you have some investigating to do…”
    “We are still good for this afternoon?” he asks, and I can tell his suspicions have been peaked at my behavior.
    “Absolutely.  One o’clock.  It’s on my checklist,” I nod.  I stand, with my purse and clipboard plastered against my body, and wait for him to move out of my way.
    He eventually moves to the side and I can feel his penetrating eyes follow me all the way to my vehicle.
    Once I am inside, and have pulled out of the parking lot, I fish my phone from my purse and frantically dial my mother. 
    “Darling,” my mother’s sing song voice greets me.
    “Mom, I’m coming over,” I say.
    “Alright,” she says.  “Is anything wrong?”
    Of course something’s wrong.   Everything  is wrong.  My mother might just have made us the lead suspects in a murder investigation.  And I’m talking on my cellphone while driving without using my handsfree– what’s  happening  to me?
    “I’ll be there in five minutes.”
     
    Every time I walk into my mother’s house I feel like I need to go back onto the front porch and check I have the right address.  My mother changes her décor like I clean my apartment (on Wednesday, Saturdays and sometimes again on Sunday if things get crazy when I’m baking on Saturday).
    Today she’s got a bright blue velour couch with red and gold arm chairs sitting across from the fireplace. There are sheer red scarves covering the lamps to give off a warm glow, and I make a note on my clipboard:  make sure I check the fire extinguishers in Mom’s house .
    “Kate, is that you?” she calls from the kitchen, and I make my way into the room to see her standing over a pot on the stove, watching something boil.
    “Oh god, what’s that smell?” I ask, putting my hand to my face.  It smells like an orange has been left in the hot sun for days.
    “Mr. Patterson’s arthritis is bothering him again, so I told him I would make a special ointment,” she says, stirring the liquid. 
    I make another note on my clipboard:  give Mr. Patterson the next few days off.  Also, buy him a scented candle.
    “Mom, the insurance company called this morning,” I say. 
    My mother’s hand stills mid-stir before she flicks her hair over her shoulder and continues.
    “Really, what did they say?”
    “I think the better question is,  what did you tell them? ” I say, coming to stand beside her at the sink.
    “Nothing.” My mother stops and looks at me.  “I just had to ask Glenn a quick question.”
    “Mom,” I reach across the stove and place my hand on