Free Mayhem at the Orient Express by Kylie Logan Page A

left of the stairway, was the most logical one to
     show her to, and something told me she was just the woman for the room.
    I opened the door, turned on the faux Tiffany lamp on the cherry dresser, and showed
     her around. This was the most spacious and the most audacious suite at Bea & Bees,
     from the canopied bed to the shelves of bric-a-brac. It also happened to be the only
     suite that had a fireplace in the bathroom.
    One look at it and Mariah cooed with glee. “You don’t mind if I burn it?”
    “I can start the fire for you if you like,” I told her, and since there was already
     kindling and logs piled next to the fireplace, I did just that while she got herself
     settled.
    Once the fire was crackling, I told her about breakfast, wished her a good night,
     and left Mariah slipping out of her boots.
    I was all the way back to the kitchen before I realized Mariah wasn’t the only new
     arrival. There was a middle-aged man standing near my back door. Buzz-cut hair, square
     jaw, arms crossed over his chest. If the dark blue uniform wasn’t a giveaway, the
     gun he had strapped to his hip would have been.
    Put-in-Bay’s finest.
    And he didn’t look happy.
    His eyes snapped to mine. “So you’re one of the ones causing all this trouble.”
    I hoped he was kidding and decided in an instant that he didn’t know the meaning of
     the word.
    Dumbstruck, I pulled to a stop just inside the kitchen door. Kate wasn’t complaining
     about traffic, was she? On a night like this? Or maybe it was Chandra, upset at all
     the cars that were now lined up in my driveway, too close to her precious herb garden.
    I took a couple steps farther into the room, one bunny-shod foot in front of the other,
     and my smile as tight as my voice. “Me? Trouble?”
    I swear, if Kate was behind this, I was going to . . .
    Since Kate was seated at the countertop eating the last of a pint of Ben & Jerry’s
     Chunky Monkey that I was sure had been in my freezer when I left to answer the front
     door, my suspicions were assuaged.
    And Chandra? She was sitting next to Kate, her back impossibly straight, her head
     improbably high. She took a swig of beer and thumped her bottle back on the black
     granite countertop. “No trouble here at all, Officer,” she said, each word as clipped
     as if she were biting it in two. “We can’t imagine what you’re talking about.”
    “Bunch of noisy women, partying.” He shook his head in disgust. “I should have known
     you’d be behind something like this, Chandra.”
    She hopped off her stool. “You think? Then you should know something else. We’re not
     sitting here just drinking and eating.” Her gaze landed on the blender, half-filled
     with limey green margarita, and on the plates and bowls of snacks scattered all around,
     and she swallowed some of her outrage. “Okay, so yeah, we are sitting here drinking
     and eating. But that’s not all we’re doing. As a matter of fact, we were talking about
     Peter’s murder. You know, about all the clues and such.”
    “Really?” The way he pursed his lips, I could tell he wasn’t as impressed as he was
     simply amazed. “Is that so, Ms. Cartwright? Because I’ll tell you what, I stopped
     over here just to talk to you for a minute, but if I’m interrupting your own private
     investigation . . .”
    There’s no buzzkill like a visit from the police in the middle of the night. I bunny-stepped
     over to the counter and put on a pot of coffee. “Don’t be silly.” Yeah, bad choice
     of words. From the tilt of the cop’s bullet-shaped head to the chip I swore I could
     see on his shoulder, this guy was anything but. “We’re just talking. That’s all. And
     yes, the subject of the murder came up. Of course it did. What happened tonight has
     upset all of us.”
    He glanced around the kitchen. “You don’t look upset. None of you.”
    “Pish tush!” Luella brushed him off with the flick of one hand. “That’s for us to