Page 11 of Death By Llama (Friendship Harbor Mysteries #7)

SEVEN

“This meal was absolutely delicious,” my mother said, dabbing her napkin to the corner of her lips. “I’m stuffed.”

I glanced down at my empty plate. Mom was right.

The food was excellent, but we had both ordered the same dish—broiled scallops on a bed of asparagus and field greens.

While it was definitely delicious, I could already tell that later tonight, I’d be raiding my freezer for a large bowl of ice cream.

And maybe some cookies. I had a sweet tooth.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” Cameron said, pleased.

“I actually brought in a chef from Boston for the weekend, but he created the whole menu and I’ll hire someone local to take over.

But I did ask Chef Joubert to be here this weekend.

I wanted to be sure we made a bit of a splash for the grand opening. ”

“A bit of a splash. That certainly happened,” Oliver said under his breath.

I nudged him with my foot under the table, which I instantly regretted as my toe bells jingled again.

Dad chuckled. Mom nudged him, but not under the table.

“That was rude of me to laugh, wasn’t it?” my father asked ruefully.

“Yeah, maybe too soon, Dad,” I said—although I wasn’t sure there would ever be a good timeline to make light of a man falling to his death.

“What time are we going to Bar Harbor tomorrow?” Mom asked me, clearly trying to steer the conversation away from the topic of Peanut and his untimely demise.

Except I had no idea what she was talking about. “Bar Harbor?”

“Oh,” Cameron said, realizing yet again I wasn’t in the loop of the weekend’s plans. “I forgot to tell you. I made a tee time for your father, Henry and I to play golf, and I thought you and your mother could spend time checking out the shops in Bar Harbor. Then we could all meet for a late lunch.”

That sounded like a great plan. I just wished I had been included in making it. But rather than show my frustration, I smiled. “How about noon?”

“That sounds perfect,” Mom said, trying to stifle a yawn. “I don’t want to have to get up too early. I’m feeling the effects of that flight.”

“Is a ten o’clock tee time too early, Mr. Bieber?” Cameron asked.

“That is always my tee time,” Dad said with a pleased grin. “And please call me Will.”

“You are helping my father maintain his perfect track record for Sunday golf,” I told Cameron.

“Oliver, you didn’t want to join us?” my dad asked.

Oliver smiled, but shook his head. “I actually have plans tomorrow morning, but I appreciate you thinking of me.” I saw the quick annoyed glance he flicked toward Henry. Henry, however, did not notice as he refilled my mother’s wine glass and asked her about some restaurant in LA.

Apparently we had both been left out of the planning by the Winstead Brothers. But I didn’t get much of a chance to fixate on our exclusion because the sound of voices and raucous laughter from the hallway outside the dining room distracted me.

Moments later, a group of two couples waltzed into the room, led by our server, a local young man I recognized from the occasional trivia night at Steamy’s. His team rarely won, but for what he lacked in trivia knowledge, he made up for in serving skills. He’d been fantastic while waiting on us.

He gestured to a table for four near the fireplace, offering the new guests a genuinely affable smile.

“Swanky,” a woman with shaggy blonde hair and artfully applied fake lashes said. She had a high-pitched voice that reminded me of the actress in Rocky Horror Picture Show. I couldn’t remember the character’s name.

One of the men pulled out a chair for the woman.

“Thank you, kind sir,” the blonde said, still affecting her British accent from today. Unless she really was British. She twittered, her laugh somewhere between quirkily cute and mildly irritating.

The man bowed with flourish, and the blonde giggled again.

I immediately recognized the bowing man as the juggler from today. Even out of his villainous Dickens’ costume, he still had a dastardly look with unruly dark hair and a Van Dyke goatee.

Another woman with shiny, straight black hair and vivid blue eyes also took a seat at the table. She looked up with open adoration at the man who held her chair for her.

I studied the man, trying to place whether he’d also been one of the actors. His tall and broad-shouldered build seemed familiar, but I didn’t recognize his salt and pepper hair coiffed in a fashionable style or the neatly groomed beard that suited his jawline.

He glanced over at our table as if he could feel my gaze on him. Our eyes met.

He smiled—an arrogant twist of his lips, and I realized he hadn’t felt my look, he’d expected it. And I now recognized him. Saint Nick.

He had a trimmed beard now, given his stint as Saint Nicholas was complete. But his cocky smirk was the same.

“Oh Nick,” the dark haired beauty said, looking up at him from her menu. “They have lobster.”

Apparently his name really was Nick.

He held my gaze a moment longer, then smiled down at the woman. “It’s Maine, silly. They have lobster everywhere.”

I grit my teeth at the patronizing way he spoke to the clearly besotted young woman.

But the woman didn’t seem to hear his words the same way. She grinned at him. “Well, I’m still getting used to such a treat.”

Cameron said the acting troupe was from Boston. Boston had plenty of lobster too. I wondered where she was from originally.

More voices echoed in the hallway and another group walked into the dining room. I recognized the first man who entered. He was the actor who had also argued with St. Nick. Or just Nick now, I guess.

He paused when he spotted Nick, his eyes narrowing with dislike. But then he promptly hid his reaction, turning to the man beside him, responding to something the younger man had been saying when they entered the room. A valiant attempt to act as if he hadn’t even noticed Nick’s presence.

But Nick wasn’t going to let that happen.

“Vance,” he called. “Did you hear from your agent? Because I heard from mine.”

Vance, who might be roughly the same age as Nick, wasn’t aging quite as well as the larger, more muscular man. Deep wrinkles framed his mouth and his cheeks sagged slightly with the beginnings of jowls. And they grew ruddy—whether with anger or embarrassment, I wasn’t sure.

Having worked as an actor I could deduce what Nick’s deceptively chirpy comment really meant. I bet they had both been auditioning for the same part. And Nick was rubbing in that he’d landed it.

I glanced at Oliver. He made a face that said he’d come to the same conclusion.

I didn’t miss the acting world.

Cameron might not understand the dynamics of actors, but he did seem aware of the tension building in the room, because he pushed out his chair and stood.

“Good evening. We are thrilled to have some of our wonderful entertainment staying at the inn tonight. Please have a seat and enjoy our fantastic menu.”

Vance nodded, moving to the other side of the room, settling at a table by the windows.

The room became awkwardly quiet.

“Did we want to order dessert?” Cameron asked in an attempt to ignore the awkwardness. “Chef Joubert makes an amazing blueberry cobbler.”

To my surprise, my mother, who had just hidden another yawn behind her napkin, nodded. “I was looking at that. It sounds delicious.”

I suspected my mom was just trying to help smooth over some of the tension.

“Did you want anything, Will?” she asked my dad with an encouraging smile.

“No—”

Mom gave him a warning look.

“Actually the cobbler does sound pretty darned good,” he immediately revised. He’d long ago learned to go along with whatever my mother wanted.

I placed my napkin on my plate. “Excuse me, I need to run to the ladies room.”

“Should I order you some dessert?” Cameron asked.

I liked blueberry cobbler, but I was sort of set on a bowl of the cookies and cream ice cream in my freezer—and honestly I wanted to head home soon. I hadn’t even had a chance to check on Jack. As I stood, my elf shoes jingled. Heck, I hadn’t even had the chance to change into my own clothes.

But we were trying to act as if our nice dinner wasn’t about to be potentially ruined by the egos of the actors around us. And Mom and Dad wouldn’t be here long.

“That would be great.” Maybe the cobbler came with ice cream. “I’ll be right back.”

I left the dining room, but not before I heard the blonde snickering at the jingling of my elf shoes.

“Someone doesn’t want to give up their role today.”

I didn’t look at who made the low comment. I already knew it was Nick.

Another giggle hit my ears like another piercing and discordant shriek of a child’s recorder.

The blonde’s laugh was definitely irritating. And not mildly.

Once in the hallway, I let out a long breath that I didn’t even know I held.

Ack, what an evening. What a day.

I glanced up and down the hallway. I’d been in the inn several times since Cameron bought the place and Oliver started working here, but I still needed to get my orientation.

From within the dining room, I could hear some soft chatter, another laugh from the blonde—also known as nails on a chalkboard—and the clinking of silverware on dishes.

At least things seemed calm enough for now.

I debated using the public restroom on the first floor, but then decided to go my parents’ room. I needed a minute.

As I climbed the stairs, I kept repeating to myself not to let my aggravation with Cameron get the better of me.

I knew who Cameron was. We’d been dating for a few months, so I liked to think we knew each other fairly well.

I knew because of his career he was used to being a take-charge kind of guy.

He made decisions and got things done. That was what he did.

So, I was certain he didn’t actually mean to exclude me from the planning of the weekend.

But as my shoes jingled and my mother’s pants slipped down on my hips, I couldn’t quite squash my annoyance. How could he not tell me any details about the event today? Did we really talk that little?

I could even understand him keeping my parents’ visit a secret. It was meant as a surprise, after all. But to be excluded from the plans while my parents were here? These were all things he should have run by me too. I wanted to keep justifying his behavior, but in truth, it really irked me.

I stepped inside the beautiful and serene room, closed the door behind me, and let out another sigh. It was good to have a moment of quiet.

I wandered over to the bed and collapsed onto the edge of the soft mattress. I had to admit, Cameron really had spared no expense getting The Captain’s Inn ready for the opening.

I fell back against the thick, luxurious bedding, my arms spread wide, staring at the ceiling. I was tired. Maybe I should chalk up my reaction right now to needing a good night’s sleep. I could fall asleep right here. So maybe fatigue muddled my thinking.

Heck, it would have been hard to think straight today even if I’d slept for a week beforehand. I mean, a man died. Peanut—I didn’t know his last name—a local celebrity had fallen to his death. That was a lot.

Except I’d been here a year, and I’d never heard of Peanut. Not to say that made his death any less awful. But I had no idea who he was and that he was the designated local Santa. What was the story with him anyway? Maybe I’d ask Jimmy. Not that I’d probably get much information there.

So, I couldn’t overthink Cameron’s behavior this weekend. I laid there for a moment, then reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone. I tapped the screen and opened my text app. I went right to Dean’s short messages. Then I read it again.

Oh dear lord, I was turning into Brandy. That woman could get a text that simply said hello, and she could come up with dozens of possible meanings behind it.

Still, I read it again. Then I shut the app completely. I was definitely overthinking everything. But that didn’t explain why just seeing Dean’s name and reading the very innocuous message he wrote caused my pulse to race.

I dropped the phone and let my eyes drift shut. Just stop all this nonsensical thinking.

There was one other thing that kept nagging at me, and I knew even my friends would find it ridiculous. But I was still upset that people were saying Jack could be a killer. My sweet, adorable, and definitely not homicidal llama would not have pushed Peanut over the edge of a cliff.

I mean, okay. Not intentionally. No. He wouldn’t have done it at all. He wouldn’t hurt a fly. The only thing he did was spit, and spit had never killed anybody.

Unless maybe he spit in Peanut’s face, and Peanut stumbled backward and fell over the cliff. My eyes popped open.

Oh, no.

I pulled in a calming breath. No. Jack didn’t do it. But I needed to let it go. Everything.

My eyes just fluttered closed again, when I heard something in the hallway.

A voice. An angry voice.