Murder on Sugar Hill Read online

  “Murder on Sugar Hill”

  A Sugar Hill Mystery

  Volume One

  Claire Sweeney

  © 2019

  Claire Sweeney

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner & are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Products or brand names mentioned are trademarks of their respective holders or companies. The cover uses licensed images & are shown for illustrative purposes only. Any person(s) that may be depicted on the cover are simply models.

  Edition v1.00 (2019.06.24)

  Special thanks to the following volunteer readers who helped with proofreading: Christine S., Kari Wellborn and those who assisted but wished to be anonymous. Thank you so much for your support.

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  Table of Contents

  Join the Cozy Club Today

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter One

  Matilda glanced north as she opened the door of her blue SUV. Cannon Mountain loomed over the Franklin Inn like an ice giant. She never grew tired of seeing the snow-covered Taft slalom trail that ran down the spruce cover face of the rugged ski mountain like a narrow snowy river. At fifty-four she seldom ventured onto a pair of skies anymore, not since slipping on a patch of ice in the parking lot of the Sugar Hill post office and breaking her hip. However, skiing was still the love of her life.

  Her license plate said it all. It read: #1 Skier.

  She even carried her Elan Skies on a ski rack on top of her Bronco, although she hardly ever used them. It wasn't that she couldn't ski. The problem was that her broken hip limited her to sharing the bunny slopes with the horde of day trippers in their silly snowplow stances as they navigated down the gentle slopes for beginners.

  No, it was better to just relieve the glory days when she was one of the best slalom racers in the state of New Hampshire than to maneuver around fallen skiers on a bunny slope.

  I must start exercising again, Matilda thought upon seeing her reflection in the Bronco's window. I'm gaining weight.

  What kept Matilda Garrison going and had since the accident at the post office, was running the Franklin Inn that her grandfather, Francis Garrison, had built in 1935.

  As she often did, Matilda paused as she approached the inn to admire the white three-story building. At the time it was built it was locally known as Francis' folly because of its size. No one believed that enough skiers would make the trip from Boston and New York to fill the one hundred room inn. However, the recently cut Taft ski trail that ran from the peak of Cannon Mountain to Echo Lake with its 4,000 feet vertical drop proved to be a powerful magnet, pulling skiers to Sugar Hill and Cannon Mountain.

  Okay enough gathering wool. Time to get to work!

  As Matilda climbed the steps to the wraparound porch that allowed both views of Cannon Mountain at the front and the Indian profile at the back, her thoughts turned to the end of the season for the innkeeper's races and the trophies to be awarded to the teams with the most points. She smiled. Again, the Franklin Inn team had ended the season in first place.

  "Morning Miss Matilda," a long-haired middle-aged man who would have been right at home at Woodstock called out cheerfully.

  "When are you going to get a haircut, Smiley?"

  "When the cows come home, Miss Matilda."

  "No cows. No cows," a shrill voice belonging to Tara, a scarlet macaw, filled the lobby.

  "Hush, Tara, you don't know a cow from a moose," Matilda said and glanced at the bird who was nodding at her.

  "Bullwinkle. Bullwinkle," Tara answered.

  "Smiley, stop letting her watch cartoons," Matilda said. "Especially Roadrunner. You know they make her do stupid things," Matilda added.

  "Sorry, but she’s learned how to use the remote for the TV. Every time I leave the desk for a minute, she switches channels."

  "Tara, get in your cage! Get in your cage!" the macaw shouted as she stalked across the check-in desk and hopped on the top of a tall cage.

  "Yes, that's right. Get in your cage. You know you aren't supposed to change the channel," Matilda said in a mock angry voice.

  "Tara bad bird," the parrot said as she climbed through the door of her cage.

  "Have the waitresses finished setting up the dining room for the banquet tonight?" Matilda asked Smiley.

  "They’re still working. We had a late rush in the restaurant."

  "Where is Bozo?"

  Smiley shrugged. "The last I saw of him he was wearing a towel tied around his neck pretending to be Captain Marvel. You should get a calculator instead of a savant.

  "Why? He doesn't make mistakes when it comes to numbers. And I hate using a computer or calculator."

  "Look for him in the solarium. He likes to pretend it’s a jungle, and he's fighting bad guys."

  "Does he now?" Matilda said. "Call Trixie and have her find him. She seems to have a knack for locating people in the inn."

  "Yep, there is no hiding from Trixie."

  "What? Don't tell me you've been smoking pot again and she found your hiding place?" Matilda said sternly.

  "Bad Smiley! Bad Smiley!" Tara called in her shrill voice.

  Instead of answering Smiley picked up the receiver and punched in numbers.

  "Tell Trixie Miss Matilda wants to see her in the lobby. Right, thanks Sally."

  "She’ll be down in a moment, Miss Matilda. Uh…Buggy was at the back door of the restaurant. I told Trudy to fix him a plate."

  "Was he drunk?"

  "Yes, ma'am, sorry to say."

  "That's too bad. I was hoping the stint in rehab would stick. But here it is only a few weeks since he’s been out, and he's back drinking."

  "It’s hard for me to look at him and think that once he was the best downhill skier in the country.”

  Matilda got a faraway look in her green eyes. "Yes, to watch him run Taft slalom course during a race was magical. I've never seen someone ride skis the way Buggy did."

  "Well now he can't even stay on the wagon," Smiley said as he brushed a strand of his blond hair out of his weat
hered face with a flick of his hand. "Ah, did you invite him to the banquet tonight?"

  "Yes, last week. But he was sober then. I'm not sure he’ll remember the invite. And to be honest, I would rather he didn't come," Matilda said as her voice trailed off in sadness.

  "Trixie," Matilda said when she spotted the young woman with purple hair in a butch cut as she walked slowly down the stairs. "You do know purple hair is no longer in style."

  "I make my own style. You know, like Michael Jackson," the brown-eyed, twenty-something said as she approached. "We can't all be great skiers like you were. Some of us have to find ourselves in other ways."

  "You know that if you weren't my late, dear brother's daughter, I would fire you?"

  "If you fired me, then who would find Bozo when you need his calculator brain?"

  "Hmm, yeah, who indeed. Sometimes I think the Franklin Inn is a home for the peculiar. Go and fetch Bozo. I need to order supplies for next month and balance the books."

  "One and one makes two!" Tara called out from her cage.

  "Oh God, Tara’s been watching Sesame Street again," Trixie said and giggled. "Maybe she can take over the accounting soon."

  "Please, Trixie, just go and fetch Bozo.

  Feeling a blast of cold air, Matilda turned around.

  "Sheriff Dudley," she said. "Time for your afternoon sugar cookie and coffee break?"

  "No, I just wanted to come by and see if everything is alright here at the Franklin Asylum, but since I'm here, I guess I will have a cup of coffee and some of those fabulous sugar cookies Trudy makes. You do have a treasure of a cook in her.

  "I suspect it’s Trudy that draws your patrol car here every afternoon and not the sugar cookies," Miss Matilda said with raised eyebrows.

  Sheriff Dudley's face suddenly turned bright red. "No, no, it's the sugar cookies.”

  "Liar, liar pants on fire," Tara screamed from her perch on the door of her cage.

  "Miss Matilda, I don't think it's natural for a parrot to talk the way Tara does. Sometimes I think Smiley is throwing his voice. And if I ever find out that’s the case, I’ll see that he loses those golden locks he seems to value so highly."

  "No, Tara is a one of a kind parrot. The animal rescue center in North Conway told me she came from a government research lab that closed in Portsmouth," Miss Matilda said testily.

  "Yeah, well normal parrots aren’t supposed to be smart enough to carry on a real conversation," Sheriff Dudley said shaking his head. "Oh, before I forget. Did you know that Buggy is off the wagon again? Heck, he’s only a couple of weeks out of rehab at Dartmouth."

  Miss Matilda sighed. "Yes, Smiley told me a little while ago. I was hoping that Jack introducing him as having the fastest time on Cannon's Taft trail would give him some incentive to stay sober."

  "I don't want to contradict you ma'am, but I'm not so sure reminding Buggy of his past glory would be all that helpful. And to think he got hit by a car just walking down the road instead of crashing into a tree on one of his hell-bent races down Taft," Sheriff Dudley said as he turned to face the dining room. He took a step and stopped. "Oh, that reminds me. Charley Lovett, the owner of the Horse and Hound Inn, is in a diabetic coma."

  "Isn’t he the one that ran down Buggy?" Smiley asked.

  "Yep, the one and only. He also paid for Buggy's rehab stay at Dartmouth for what good it did. Heck, it’s been ten years since Buggy's injury and old man Lovett is still haunted by it."

  "And well he should be," Miss Matilda said louder than she intended. "Sorry, it still galls me that Charley wasn't arrested for drunk driving that night."

  "Now don't you be casting those cat-green eyes at me, Miss Matilda. I wasn't the sheriff back then," Sheriff Dudley said shaking his head. “I was just a deputy. Uncle Wilson was the sheriff.”

  "No, but you were at the Gale River Inn drinking with Charley that night."

  "As I have told you many times, Miss Matilda. He seemed sober enough to drive home when I left him at the bar."

  "Sorry, Sheriff, I didn't mean to accuse you of anything," Miss Matilda said. She smiled. "Go on and have your sugar cookies and coffee before Trudy storms out of the kitchen looking for you."

  "Yeah, I guess she has gotten used to taking her break at this time and having a cup of coffee with me. But that's all it is—just chatting and coffee."

  Miss Matilda shook her head. “As they say, inquiring minds don’t want to know. Run along. I’m sure the town of Sugar Hill will survive while you enjoy your cookies and coffee."

  “If not, Deputy Bradley is cruising around town,” Sheriff Dudley said.

  “Oh, he knows how to drive? Miss Matilda said watching the portly man as he walked through the dining room door.

  "You wouldn't be a little jealous of Trudy, now would you, Miss Matilda?" Smiley asked as the door to the dining room swung closed.

  "Smiley! What a thing to say," Miss Matilda replied quickly. “I’m not particularly fond of the good sheriff. However, when you own an inn, you must play politics sometimes. That’s all it is.”

  "Hmm, I think you protest too much my dear boss lady," Smiley said as he flicked a golden lock of hair out of his face.

  "Love birds! Love birds!" Tara cried out from her perch.

  "You know there’s a turkey shoot coming up soon. I could arrange to have it changed to a parrot shoot?" Miss Matilda said in a mock serious voice.

  Silence.

  "Yeah, well I thought that might hush you up for a bit," Matilda said.

  "Here's your human calculator, Miss Matilda," Trixie said as she entered from the other side of the lobby.

  "Bozo, take that towel from around your neck and follow me into the office," Matilda told the hunchback man who had a red towel tied around his neck.

  The cupid-faced man smiled. "No, can't. I'll lose my superpowers if I take it off, and then I won’t be able to defeat the bad men in the solarium. They want to take over the inn and turn it into a home for aliens."

  "Crazy as a bedbug," Smiley said under his breathe.

  His remark got a stern look from Miss Matilda.

  "Okay, you can keep your red cape. Now let’s go and get to work on the books. I've got to get ready for the banquet tonight."

  Chapter Two

  "I think everyone here knows my name but for the few that don't I'm Jack McGurin, head of the Sugar Hill Ski School," the short dark-haired man said as he stepped in front of the podium.

  "Boo!" Someone yelled.

  "That was my wife sitting at the table in front of the podium with the orchard in her hair. She’s still angry that I flagged her for going off course in the final race," Jack said. "Just call me honest Jack!" he added holding his hands up. "And remember the name when I run against Sheriff Dudley in the next election." Jack paused as Sheriff Dudley who was seated at one of tables in front of the podium gave him a surprised look. "Just kidding, just kidding, Sheriff Dudley. I'm afraid to run against you because Trudy might stop baking her famous sugar cookies."

  The sheriff nodded and laughed weakly.

  "He would make a great Sheriff," Matilda said under her breath.

  "I thought you were kind of sweet on Sheriff Dudley?" Trixie said glancing at her aunt.

  "He reminds me too much of the cartoon character Dudley Do-Right. Not in looks but in his bumbling efforts to get things done," Matilda said with a nod.

  "Well, I don't think that Jack would let you park in the handicap parking spaces like Dudley does," Trixie said.

  "I am handicapped," Matilda said lifting her walking stick. "I don't carry this just for show."

  "But you don't have a handicap parking sticker."

  "Why should I let perfect strangers know that I'm handicapped?"

  "I'm just saying that Sheriff Dudley could give you a ticket but doesn’t. However, if Jack McGurin were sheriff, he would give you a ticket.

  "Hush, Trixie. I want to hear when Jack announces me," Miss Matilda said gruffly as she tapped the tip of her walking stick agains
t the floor.

  "Tonight, we have the two best skiers that Sugar Hill has produced to present the trophies to the top scoring team." Jack paused and glanced around at the tables before pointing a finger at Miss Matilda. "I give you the queen of slalom racing, Miss Matilda Franklin."

  Matilda beamed a broad smile at the room as she rose slowly from her chair. She tried hard to walk without a limp as she threaded her way through the tables as the audience applauded.

  "The second presenter still holds the record for Taft's downhill race course. Buggy Slater, come on down!"

  The applause intensified as Jack scanned the audience for Buggy.

  Matilda stopped, turned and motioned to Trixie.

  "Go and find Buggy. But if he’s drunk, just say you couldn't locate him. I don't want him making a fool of himself in front of everyone," Miss Matilda whispered before she turned and resumed her approach to the podium.

  "Where's Buggy?" Jack lowered his voice to ask.

  "I don't have a clue, but I sent Trixie to find him. She’s like a human bloodhound."

  Jack glanced down at the audience. "Buggy will be here in a moment. Until then I want to present our beloved Miss Matilda with the key to the city," Jack raised his voice to announce.

  Matilda smiled as she took the large key from Jack. "Hmm, just what an innkeeper with keys for a hundred-room inn needs, another key. It takes me all day to find the right key for my office as it is." She paused to let the laughter die. "Seriously, I am highly honored to receive this," she added holding the key over her head. "I thank the academy, my fellow actors and myself...Oh, sorry that's not the right speech. I was channeling Betty Davis for a moment."

  The people seated at the tables roared with laughter.

  "Eeeeaaaa!" the distance sound of a scream echoed through the banquet room.

  Matilda glanced at Sheriff Dudley's table. The chubby sheriff was rubbernecking with the rest of the audience instead of standing up and taking charge. Yep, Jack McGurin would make a better sheriff.

  Suddenly Trixie stood at the entrance to the dining room.