Murder In The Inn: Murder In The Inn, #1

By Barbara Fox

In this first book of the series, Murder In The Inn, Sandy has just inherited a historic inn in Washington D.C., and is settling into her new role as innkeeper. Many details about Washington DC make readers feel they are walking the streets of the capital. When she learns that the former owner died in a fall, Sandy begins to suspect it was murder, not natural causes. She teams up with her quirky step-daughter Janie and reliable housekeeper Noah to untangle the web of suspects and solve the murder. Each chapter begins with a telephone conversation between the warm and relatable. All books include recipes from the Inn at the end for and added layer of enjoyment. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mystery On The Menu
• Release date: Jan 29, 2024
• ISBN: 9781386296379

Barbara Fox

Barbara Fox is the producer/director of Mystery On The Menu, an interactivetheate company she founded in Washington DC in 1986.  She writes, directs and acts in all of the shows.  She is the author of The Murder in The Inn series of mysteries and dozens of short plays and stories.  Barbara lives in Hollywood Florida; when she isn't writing or acting she spends her time  at the beach or pool, line dancing, the theater and going on as many cruises as possible

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Pauline Ellington sat on her front porch rocking and relaxing with a cup of tea. She had been living on the same street and looking at the same view her whole life and the porch was her favorite place in the world. When she was little, she played dolls and hopscotch on the smooth flagstone surface and turned summersaults and did handstands on the grassy front lawn. She loved to pick dandelions and buttercups. When she got older, she sat in the courting swing on the porch with girlfriends and talked about life and love and plans for the future. She also sat there with boyfriends; held their hands and stole kisses in the moonlight. The porch and front lawn were shaded by huge overhanging trees (her father used to trim them once a year) and there was a gentle breeze even on the hottest days.

The porch and house were located on Pearl Ave. NW, a quiet, tree-lined street in the Georgetown section of Washington DC. It was two blocks and a world away from busy Wisconsin Ave. with its shops, restaurants, boutiques, and street vendors. Every house on the street had a porch but the Ellington porch was the biggest. It was the wrap-around kind; it went three quarters of the way around the house and was furnished with a wicker table and chairs, assorted rockers and recliners and one enormous chaise lounge. Pauline's mother used to say that the porch was giving the house a hug; Pauline loved that idea. She always felt safe and protected when she sat there. It was a wonderful place to sip a cup of tea or enjoy a cocktail or read a book or just sit and think.

The character of the street didn't begin to change until ten years ago when some of the neighbors who had lived there as long as Pauline, began selling or, as she said grimly, dying off. The house across the street was now an embassy, the building next to that had been subdivided into offices and studio apartments, the mansion on the corner had been renovated into a clubhouse for a very exclusive country club and the charming New Orleans style colonial on the corner was an art gallery complete with a resident artist who had persuaded Pauline to sit for her portrait on her 90th birthday. Pauline wondered if her parents would have approved of the street. She rather thought they would have; they liked variety and change. Would they have approved of what she had done to their house? That was another question, but, she thought to herself, what choice did I have? I needed the money, and I needed something to do, something to occupy my mind and engage my interest. I was turning into a boring old woman. Pauline's husband had been a banker who bought her lavish presents, took her on expensive vacations, bought her anything she wanted, and left her thirty- five years ago, with a wealth of wonderful memories, but very little actual wealth. There were no children.

Twenty years ago, Pauline, faced with the prospect of selling her family home, had instead turned it into a Bed and Breakfast Inn. She called it The D.C. Inn and, in spite of dire forecasts from lawyers, friends and bankers, it had been an instant success. Guests loved the charm and ambiance of staying right in Georgetown in an authentic old house. There were never more than ten guests at a time. Coffee and toast were served in the morning and wine and cheese at night, and best of all, her oldest friend Noah, (she never thought of him as a housekeeper or employee) lived right in the house with her for company and protection. He insisted on moving in the day she opened for business.

There was one other permanent boarder or Guest, as she called him, the comedian, Joey Jason. He came to stay for a week ten years ago after his divorce and, somehow, never left. He traveled most of the time, but when he was there, he was wonderful company and twice a year his daughter, Janie, who lived in Florida with her mother, came to stay. Pauline thought of Joey as a sort of son and Janie as a granddaughter. She loved them both, and they loved her. Joey didn't know it, but he was Pauline's heir. She wrote a will five years ago leaving Noah ten thousand dollars and Joey all of her worldly possessions, including her house.

The years passed and The D.C. Inn prospered. Days blended into other days. Life was even and calm and then, Pauline overheard the conversation that would change everything.

She sat on the porch thinking about what she had heard and what she could do about it. "I could talk to Countess Maria, psychic who had an office across the street, or to Noah, the housekeeper, or to dear Jeremy. He was her oldest friend on the block. She and Jeremy had grown up together, gone to the same schools and once, had even considered themselves in love.

No, she thought, I can't be such a coward. I can't hide behind other people's ideas. If Joey was here I could ask him, I did write him that letter. I could mail it and wait for him to answer. No, that will be too late. I have to face this person myself and make my own decision."

Hi Mrs. Ellington. Sitting out here enjoying the weather? Pauline looked up; the person she had been thinking about was standing right in front of her.

Please come into my office, she said. I’d like to talk to you about something.

Your office, the person said in surprise. I thought guests weren't allowed in there.

Usually they are not, Pauline agreed. But this is important, and private. And I want to be sure no one hears or interrupts us. Come with me please. She walked into the house. The person followed her.

CHAPTER 1

Hi Joey, it's Sandy. Hope your show went well tonight. Well, 1 did it; I broke the news to Duke right after Marlena's last set in the nightclub. He was in a really good mood. The hotel and casino were packed and Marlena dedicated her song to him, so I thought, This is as good a time as any. I leaned over and said, real fast, Duke, I'm leaving The Royal Hotel in two weeks, November First. I'm marrying Joey Jason, you know, the comedian who was the headliner last month. I'm marrying him and moving to Washington D. C. to run a bed and breakfast Inn. Joey lives there and his landlady died and left it to him. Duke just looked at me for a minute; then he started to yell and" Beep!

I glared at the phone in my hand. Those machines always cut me off right at the most important part of the message. On second thought, it was probably just as well. My gentle, funny Joey wouldn't have wanted to hear the things Duke said (after the cursing, that is). I was used to the Duke's temper, but even I was a little scared when his face turned red and he started yelling about loyalty and faith and trust and betrayal. All this because I was quitting a job to get married. I worked for Duke (his real name is Dan Carleton, but everyone calls him Duke) for ten years at The Royal Hotel and Casino on the Boardwalk in Atlantic City. I was the Director of Guest Relations, a sort of catch-all job that included booking the entertainment, planning activities for the guests, arranging conventions, weddings, luncheons, writing the hotel newsletter, marketing and so on. It was a great job; I loved every minute of it, but last month I met something (someone) I loved even more: Joey Jason, a skinny, red-headed comedian with a wildly romantic streak. For example, he sent me a dozen balloons with I Love You written all over them in ten different languages. He wrote the messages himself.

I guess Duke thought I owed him undying loyalty or something because he gave me a job ten years ago after my divorce. I used to be married to Sam (Slick) Sampson; he's an auctioneer here in Atlantic City. He owns The Best Deal Auction Gallery. I worked with Sam at the Gallery all during the fifteen years we were married, but I obviously couldn't keep on working there after the divorce. Okay, Sam and I weren't even speaking after the divorce. It wasn't what you would call a friendly parting of ways. Sam was a little too friendly with some of our clients, especially the rich women clients. He was a master at offering them comfort and advice and, well, that's another story. We got divorced and I was going to leave Atlantic City and go back to Chicago, my hometown, or maybe to Orlando where my twin sister Allison is a casting director at a movie studio.

Anyway, I was having dinner at the Royal with my friend Marlena. She's the featured singer in the nightclub and she and Duke have been having an affair for years. No wedding plans, neither of them wants to be married. Duke stopped by the table, heard me talking and offered me a temporary job, while I decided what to do. The temporary job became permanent, and like I said, I loved it and really thought I was set for life. Then, I hired Joey for a two-week engagement at the Royal and everything changed. It was like we had known each other forever. We were together 24/7 for the two weeks he was in town. After he left (he travels all over the country doing his comedy shows) we talked on the phone three times a day. He flew back twice to visit me, and on the last visit, he proposed. I hesitated for two seconds, threw my arms around him and said, (after I said, Yes) I'll have to quit my job. and I burst out crying. He said he was willing for me to keep on working at the Royal if that was what I wanted to do, because he could be based in Atlantic City as well as Washington. He lives in a Bed and Breakfast that he inherited from his landlady: she died and left it to him in her will. He had been planning to sell it, but it didn't seem right to me. I mean, I was getting married. I wanted a whole new life as Mrs. Joey Jason, a new life in a brand-new place. Plus, I sort of liked the idea of running a bed and breakfast Inn right in the middle of Washington D.C. I was sure I could make it a big success.

I guess I should back up a little and explain. The bed and breakfast (from now on to be known as the Inn) is this huge house on the outskirts of Georgetown where Joey lived. He moved