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The Case of the Artist's Mistake, Sweetbriar Inn Mysteries Book 2

By Jan Drexler

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“It looks like you need this,” Becky said as she thrust a mug into my hand.
I breathed in the coffee’s aroma, feeling the brain cells wake up.
“Thanks. I stayed up too late last night finishing that new murder mystery.” I sipped the hot liquid.
Becky went back to filling muffin tins with batter. “Did you solve the case before the end of the book?”
“Of course.” I took another sip. “What’s on the menu for this morning?”
In the four weeks since Becky had accepted the job as our cook at Rose’s Sweetbrier Inn, she had settled into the job like she had been born to it.
“A baked omelet and these blueberry muffins. I also made that fruit slush recipe Gran got from the Amish tourists last week.” She slid the muffin tin into one of the ovens and set the timer. “We’ll see how it goes before I make it a permanent part of the menu.”
“You’re using the guests for guinea pigs?”
“Don’t worry. I tried it at Gran’s and it’s delicious. The guests will love it.”
The caffeine began to clear the fog in my brain. “Run through this weekend’s events for me one more time. Is there anything our guests will be interested in?”
“It’s Paragon Days.” Becky took the batter bowl to the sink and rinsed it with the sprayer arm. “It’s a big thing. Folks come from all over the Hills for the parade on Saturday and the Ice Cream Social on Sunday evening.”
“It sounds like something out of a Norman Rockwell painting.”
“Every Memorial Day weekend.” Becky grinned at me as she refilled her coffee cup. “Which float did you decide to join?”
“Me?”
“Sure. You have your pick. The church has a float, and Gran’s Café is always a good one.” She stirred sugar and cream into her cup, then her eyebrows went up. “Hey, maybe this year the inn should have a float.”
“I don’t know the first thing about building a parade float. And didn’t you say the event is tomorrow morning? When would either of us have time to work on it?”
Becky slumped against the counter. “You’re right.” Then her face brightened. “But we can start making plans for next year, can’t we? Do you think Rose would pay for some decorations?”
I laughed at Becky’s enthusiasm. “We can discuss that after this weekend is over. Are you still planning to go into town with me today? I want to distribute those new brochures.”
“Let’s have lunch at the café, then we’ll do the tour. Most of the seasonal stores are open now. Except...” She left the word hanging when the oven timer rang.
I waited while she took out the casserole and set it on the counter. “Except what?”
“Have you seen the new art gallery yet?”
“The storefront across from Gran’s Café? Don’t you like it?”
She poured herself a fresh cup of coffee. “Hey, I like purple as much as the next person. Maybe more. But her place is-”
“Funky? Groovy? Way out there?”
“Yeah. Like something from the hippie-sixties. And the woman who runs it is driving everyone in town crazy.”
“She’s new. Maybe people need to get used to her.”
Becky gave me a sideways look. “You haven’t met her, have you?”
“She can’t be that bad.” I finished my coffee, feeling better already.
“She wanted Gran to paint the café to match her art gallery.”
I laughed. “I can’t see that happening.” Gran’s Café was firmly ensconced in its original mid-twentieth-century diner decor, inside and out.
“Yeah. Neither could Gran. They had words over it. Gran kicked her out of the café.”
“Gran? But she gets along with everyone.”
“Not Caro Lewis. I hope the two of them can ignore each other for the summer.”
I put my empty coffee cup in the dishwasher. “It’s time to start the coffee for the guests.”
“We have eight for breakfast this morning?”
“Yes. There’s a family from Pennsylvania checking in this afternoon and another couple from Minnesota, so tomorrow morning there will be a full house.”
Becky opened her laptop and started making notes. “Does the family have young children?”
“I don’t think so. Mrs. Thomas asked about our wi-fi for her daughters.”
“Too bad. I found some great kid-friendly breakfast recipes I’m anxious to try.”
“One of the reservations for the middle of June asked about a crib.”
Becky did a fist pump. “Yes! Little kids! They’re the best.”
“Let’s take care of this week’s guests first. It’s past time for me to get to work.”
By the time I had the coffee brewing in the dining room, Rose had come out of her suite with Thatcher running ahead of her.
“Good morning.” I scratched the corgi’s ears while Rose shrugged her jacket on. “How’s my favorite pup this morning?”
“Ready to roll.” Rose gave me a good morning hug. “And you?” She backed away and frowned as she looked at me. “You look a little tired.”
I gave my aunt a gentle push toward the door. “I stayed up too late last night.”
“Reading again?” She stopped at the door and turned toward me with a smile. “I’m the same way.” She gave me a conspiratorial wink and took Thatcher out for their morning walk.
Just as she left, Violet and Charles Bishop came out of the Summerwine suite, located off the dining room.
“Good morning.” I greeted the elderly couple with a smile. “Breakfast won’t be ready until seven o’clock, but coffee and tea are available.”
Viperish Violet. I regretted the mnemonic that had popped into my head when they had checked in the afternoon before, but Violet’s long, thin body coiled in her wheelchair reminded me of a snake. I would have to come up with a different mnemonic to erase my first impression. Her husband was the opposite. When they had visited with Rose the evening before, he had said he was a retired pharmacist. With his kind and caring manner, I could imagine he had been a favorite with his customers.
Charitable Charles gave me a smile. “We thought we would take our tea on the veranda this morning. Would that be too much trouble?”
“Not at all. You can choose your favorite blend and I’ll help you get settled. The deck next to the library is in the sunshine this time of the morning. How does that sound?”
“It would be lovely,” Violet said.
I had gotten Violet and Charles settled on the sunny, sheltered deck and was refilling the cream pitcher at the coffee station when I heard a door slam on the second floor. Betty Ann and Sally Marie Brooks were on their way down the stairs. The senior sisters from South Carolina were staying in the Dublin Bay. I didn’t need to use mnemonics to remember their names.
“It’s too early for breakfast, isn’t it?” That was Sally Marie, the older one.
“Look at my watch. It’s nearly eight-thirty. Breakfast has been ready for more than an hour.”
They clumped down the stairs. Both sisters had donned hiking boots as soon as they had reached the Black Hills, but I doubted they would do much hiking during their stay. Their flowing blouses over bright capris were a cacophony of color that reminded me of a swirl of butterflies in a flower garden. Large, showy butterflies.
Betty Ann spied me as soon as they reached the bottom of the stairs.
“There’s Emma! Yoo-hoo!” Her voice rose even higher in volume. “We aren’t too late for breakfast, are we?”
I met them before they reached the reception desk. “It’s only six-thirty, ladies. Please keep your voices down. The other guests are still sleeping.”
“Six-thirty?” Betty Ann’s voice was as loud as ever. “How can it be six-thirty? Look at my watch.” She held her arm up to my face.
“We talked about this yesterday, remember? The Black Hills are in the Mountain Time Zone. Your watch is still set for Eastern Time.”
“Oh, my, she’s right,” Sally Marie said, turning to her sister. “We forgot again.”
“There is tea or coffee if you would like some. You could sit on the front porch and enjoy the morning while you wait for breakfast.”
Betty Ann pushed past me, pointing out the French doors on the other side of the dining room. “Look, Sally Marie. I told you I saw a woman in a wheelchair when we came in last night, and there she is.”
I was glad the Bishops were on the other side of the closed doors, but I hadn’t reckoned with the sisters’ determination. In spite of my maneuvering, they slipped past me through the dining room, and out the doors to the deck.
“Good morning,” Betty Ann said, sticking her hand out to the couple. “I’m Betty Ann and that’s Sally Marie. We’re the Brooks sisters.”
Sally Marie took Violet’s hand and shook it vigorously. “Everyone thinks we’re twins, but we’re not. Mama and Daddy loved me so much when I was born that they had Betty Ann right away. She’s always been my baby doll.”
Betty Ann picked up the thread even before Sally Marie dropped it. “We’re from Oxford Springs, South Carolina. If there’s anything we can do for y’all, just let us know. We love to help those who are less fortunate. Mama always said it was why God put us on this good earth.”
Violet withdrew her hand from Sally Marie’s grasp, her face red. I tried to detour the sisters.
“Let’s get your coffee, ladies, or would you rather have tea this morning? Didn’t you want to sit on the front porch? We still have a half hour before breakfast is ready.”
It worked.
“We’ll have coffee,” Sally Marie said, turning back toward the dining room. “Come on, Betty Ann. You can put in as much of the pink sweetener as you like.”
Betty Ann followed her. “Oh, my,” she said. “Look at my watch. Is it really eight-thirty?”
“We’ve been through that, dear. You need to reset your watch.”
As the ladies went to the coffee maker, I closed the French doors. Violet’s expression was stony, but when Charles leaned over and asked her something, she shook her head and waved him away. Her face relaxed as she picked up her cup with a shaking hand. Charles reached over to steady the cup for her, and she gave him a smile of gratitude. They seemed to have forgiven the intrusion.
I left them and went to help the sisters get settled on the porch. I had my work cut out for me during their stay.

At seven o’clock, Dave and Joy Albert, a retired couple from Michigan, came downstairs.
“You’re right on time,” I said. “Breakfast is on the buffet.”
“It smells delicious,” Joy said. “Are we the first ones up?”
“The others will be in soon, I’m sure. The Bishops are on the library deck, and the Brooks sisters from South Carolina are on the front porch. I’m on my way to let them know breakfast is ready now.”
Joy beamed. “I love those two ladies! I grew up in South Carolina, and their accents bring back so many memories.”
As Dave and Joy went on into the dining room, I continued to the front porch. Rose and Thatcher had returned from their walk and my aunt was chatting with the ladies.
Betty Ann was holding Thatcher on her lap. “Isn’t he the most darling little dog?”
Thatcher looked at me and grinned, his eyes half closed. He was enjoying the attention.
Betty Ann continued. “I told Sally Marie we should get a dog like this sweetie, but she said no.” Her face dropped into a pout for a second before resuming her normal happy expression.
“Our building doesn’t allow dogs, remember?” Sally Marie patted her sister’s arm. “But you can enjoy him while we’re here.”
“I’ll take Thatcher in,” Rose said, lifting him off Betty Ann’s lap and setting him on the porch. “It’s time for breakfast.”
Sally Marie stood and tugged Betty Ann to her feet. “Breakfast is the best part of staying at a B&B, isn’t it?”
“I know you’ll enjoy Becky’s baked omelet this morning.” I opened the door for the ladies as they walked through and into the dining room.
Rose paused at the door before she and Thatcher went inside. “How are the other guests this morning?”
“All in a good mood. Joy Albert was hoping to spend some time talking to the Brooks sisters.”
“That’s good. I like to see the guests enjoying themselves.”
I do, too, I thought as I went into the dining room. The Alberts were sharing a table with Betty Ann and Sally Marie.
“It’s good to meet someone from home,” Joy said. “Even after living in Detroit for thirty years, South Carolina is in my blood.”
“And always will be,” Sally Marie said. “Home is home, no matter where we roam.”
“We visit every year,” Dave said. “Spring break at the beach while the kids were growing up, and now that we’re retired, we spend a few weeks there every winter.”
The French doors by the library opened and Charles wheeled Violet to their suite. He parked her wheelchair outside the door, then came over to me. He cleared his throat.
“We hate to impose, but sometimes my wife is uncomfortable eating in front of other people. She’s having a difficult time this morning.”
I remembered her shaking hand as she lifted her teacup earlier.
“I understand. Would you like to have your breakfast in your suite?”
“If you don’t mind.”
“It isn’t a problem at all. I’ll get a tray.”
Charles filled two plates while I readied a teapot and added a saucer with extra tea and sweetener to the tray. I carried it to their suite and set it on the counter in their kitchenette. Then I helped Charles clear the small table. There were several artistic photographs in frames that he stacked together and took into the living area.
“Gifts for our nieces,” Violet said. “We found them at a cute little shop in the town yesterday.”
“I’m sure they’ll appreciate them,” I said, and left the couple to their breakfasts.
Once our morning work was completed, Becky and I walked down Graves’ Gulch Road to Gran’s Café in Paragon. Even though the inn was officially part of the small town, our location on the opposite side of the highway from the rest of the homes and businesses kept us separate. But Becky’s family consisting of Gran, sisters, brothers, and assorted aunts, uncles, and cousins had made Rose and I feel welcome.
“There sure are a lot more people around than last week,” I said as we waited for three cars to go by before crossing the road.
“The tourist season has officially started.” Becky waved to a young man I hadn’t seen before. “Memorial Day weekend is the big kickoff, and we’ll see crowds until the middle of August, when schools start again.”
“Who did you wave to?”
“That’s Jack Pike. He and his wife Shasta own Come on Up where they sell hiking and climbing gear.”
“Their store must be one that’s closed during the winter.”
“Yup. He and Shasta head to New Mexico during the winter months. They have another store there.”
“Do many of the shopkeepers do the same?”
“Most of them.” Becky paused at the door of Gran’s Café and pointed west down Main Street, away from the center of town. “Old Stumpy, Gran’s brother-in-law, is one of the year-’rounders. He spends the off-season hunting for antlers and bones in the forest and preparing his merchandise. All of it is local. He opens up his shop in April.”
“He sells antlers?”
“Lots of stuff. People use animal bones, sinew, teeth, and antlers to make traditional jewelry and decorations. He also sells supplies for bead work.”
“I can’t believe those things are popular enough to support a store.”
Becky grinned. “Remember, you’re in South Dakota. A lot of Lakota do traditional crafts like bead work. Gran makes beautiful beaded moccasins for the dancers.”
I shook my head. “You’ve lost me. Dancers?”
“Girl, you’re coming with me to the next Powwow. You’ll be blown away.” She opened the screen door and pushed me into the café. “I’m starving. Let’s get some lunch.”
Cheeseburgers and fries were on the menu. I tried not to indulge more than once a week, but Gran’s burgers were the perfect balance of tasty and decadently juicy. I opted for sweet potato fries, and Becky made sure there was a dill pickle spear on my plate.
Thirty minutes later, I was ready to walk off my lunch. We headed out to Main Street.
“We’ll start on this side, then cross the street down at Cloud Creek Road and come back on the other side.”
“Are all of the businesses here on Main Street?”
“Yup. Great-grandpa Graves laid out the town in nineteen-thirty. He plotted out Main Street and Church Street with both running parallel to the highway.
The highway was one of the routes between Rapid City and Mount Rushmore and hugged the base of Grizzly Peak as it climbed into the Hills. Main Street followed that same curve.
“Then in around nineteen-fifty, his son added the side streets and named them after his granddaughters. Willow is behind us, then Maggie. You know her as Gran. Then Sadie and Jeanne.” Becky pointed down the street. “Each one of the side streets is one block long, so it’s a simple plan. The stores are here on Main, and the houses are along Church Street. Mackenzie’s Draw Road is on the west end of town and heads up into the Hills.”
“Where does it go?”
“If you follow it far enough, you’ll get to Hill City. But you’d want four-wheel-drive to take that one out of town.”
We walked past the ice cream shop next to the café. The line of customers wound down the sidewalk, and Becky waved to the girls behind the counter.
“The sign says Gran’s Ice Cream. I didn’t know she had two stores,” I said.
“The ice cream shop is only open in the summer. The high school kids staff it, and they work hard. It’s big bragging rights if Gran chooses you to work there.”
“Don’t tell me. You worked there in high school.”
“I was the manager two years in a row,” Becky said and gave me a high-five. “Let’s stop here.”
We pushed open the door of a bookstore. I took a deep breath as a bell tinkled over our heads. Bookstores were the nicest smelling places in the world, and in this one the heavenly fragrance of coffee mingled with the books.
“Hi, Ashley,” Becky said as a woman about our age walked toward us. Her light brown hair was caught up in a ponytail.
Ashley pushed up her glasses. “Hi, Becky.” She held out her hand to me. “You must be Emma. Becky told me how you caught a murderer last month. That must have been exciting.”
Her smile was inviting me to divulge all the details of a time I would rather forget. I understood when I saw the book in her hand with her finger as a bookmark. It was the latest mystery to hit the best sellers list. I grinned back at her as I shook her hand.
“Catching a killer in real life isn’t the same as in a book or on television. I’m just happy it’s over.”
Ashley looked a little disappointed. “No more murders? I was hoping there would be a sequel.”
I laughed. “I hope not.” I held up one of my brochures. “I wondered if you would have room on your counter to put a few of these out. We would be happy to recommend your store to our guests in exchange.”
“That’s a great idea,” she said. She took the brochure and used it as a marker in her book, then went over to the sales counter. “I got in some bookmarks advertising Between the Pages. Would you be able to make them available to your guests?”
“Sure.” I exchanged a stack of brochures for the bookmarks and put them in my bag. “What kinds of books do you sell?”
“Almost every genre, both new and used. I buy and sell online, too. The store’s website is on the bookmark.”
“Gran told me you’re planning to be a permanent resident,” Becky said.
“That’s right.”
“You mean you won’t be one of the businesses that moves south for the winter?” I asked.
Ashley shook her head. “That kind of life isn’t for me. I want to put my roots down, and Paragon is the place to do it, even though my last name isn’t Graves.” She winked at Becky.
“They let a few of us outsiders in,” I said. “Although I don’t think there’s a danger of the Graves family being outnumbered.”
“I’m looking forward to getting to know both of you,” Ashley said as we made our way to the door. “We should have lunch sometime.”
“Will you have time for lunch?” I glanced at the hours posted on her door. Between the Pages was open from nine until eight daily.
She sighed. “Probably not until the end of the season.”
“I have an idea,” said Becky. “We’ll get lunch from Gran’s sometime and bring it over. We can eat and visit between customers.”
“I’d like that,” Ashley said.
She picked up her book again as I followed Becky out to the sidewalk. I reached into my bag to pull out another stack of brochures and ran right into a khaki shirt.
“Whoa, Emma. Watch where you’re going.”
Strong hands grabbed my arms and steadied me when I nearly fell backward.
Cowboy Cal. I told my stomach to settle down.
“Hey, Cal,” Becky said. “What are you doing?”
His eyes hadn’t left mine. I hadn’t seen much of Becky’s cousin since he had arrested Wil last month. Becky said he had gone out of town for a week of training somewhere, but that didn’t explain where he had been for the other three weeks. Or why he hadn’t called me. Or why he hadn’t followed up after we had to cancel the date-that-wasn’t-a-date.
“I’m heading to the café for lunch. What are you up to?”
I handed one of the brochures to him. “Spreading these around town. I want to advertise the inn a little and pick up some literature from the shops for our guests at the same time.”
Raised voices from across the street drew our attention. The shorter woman raised her hand, threatening to hit the taller one with a... rolling pin?
“Not again,” Cal said as he started across the street to the two women arguing in front of the art gallery.
“Again?” I said, jogging next to him. Becky was right behind me.
He didn’t answer me but stepped between the two ladies.
“Ms. Sminski, give me the rolling pin.”
He took it out of her hand, but she didn’t look at him. Ms. Sminski was a short woman with bleached blond curls wearing a t-shirt and jeans. The woman facing her was tall, thin, and dressed to kill in a black and white pantsuit.
“You arrest her, you policeman,” Ms. Sminski yelled. I recognized her accent from one of the Slavic countries. “She wants to take my store. Make it into what? A studio?”
The other woman sniffed. “I only made the suggestion.”
“Suggestion with teeth. You said you would burn store down!”
“Ms. Lewis,” Cal said, his voice even. “Did you threaten to burn down her store?”
The other woman seemed to grow even taller. “I did not. I only said it should be burned. She has the temerity to call her merchandise art.” She waved her hand toward the other side of the street. “She sells junk. It’s all imported junk.”
“Olga, you need to go back to your store,” Cal said. “And in the future, come to me if you have a complaint to make against someone.”
Olga Sminski’s eyes shifted away from Cal. “I do not call policeman. No good comes from calling police.”
“This isn’t Slovakia,” Cal said. “I’m here to help.”
She took her rolling pin back and scuttled across Main Street. He turned toward Ms. Lewis, but she had already disappeared inside the art gallery.
“There we go,” he said. “Just another summer day in Paragon.”

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