Bed, Breakfast & Bedbugs: Blossom Inlet Series, #1

By Sandra Bass Joines

Welcome to Blossom Inlet... Where Memories are Made and Secrets are Protected.

Leora Van Leer grapples with deep-seated commitment issues rooted in her mother's abandonment and her mysterious father's absence. Following her grandmother's passing, she inherits the cherished Blossom Inlet Estate, a family legacy for five generations. But there's a catch—she must run the bed and breakfast for a year or lose it to a children's foundation. Given her history of fleeing emotional connections, this challenge proves daunting.

Adding complexity to her life, Leora faces new challenges with the eccentric trio she inherits: Miss Sophie, her grandmother's best friend who is battling Alzheimer's; Preacher, a retired minister with a penchant for misquoting Bible verses; and Eduardo, a young artist prone to sudden statue-like freezes. Reopening the bed and breakfast becomes a cascade of misfortunes, from her controlling mother's attempt to snatch the inheritance to the captivating stranger with a lopsided smile who steals her heart.

Amidst the chaos, a shocking revelation about her mother unveils a horrifying secret, shattering Leora's world. Faced with an unimaginable past, she stands at a crossroads—confront the painful truth while honoring her grandmother's legacy and carry on the Van Leer tradition, or
RUN.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sunset Tide Press, LLC
• Release date: Mar 24, 2024
• ISBN: 9798223688372

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Leora always left when autumn came, before the leaves fell and the trees were bare. Not this year. A special student had stolen her heart, and she couldn’t stand the thought of deserting her. Not yet.

Ouch, she cried, stubbing her toe on a loose floor plank in the dilapidated cabin where she stayed. What do you think they want? Why would her landlord know what the men of the small hill community had to say? The county paid Miss Opal to provide contract teachers with room and board, not advice.

Don’t know. Miss Opal moved her fingers in the biscuit dough, an art Leora had never mastered. Not for me to say.

You must have some idea. You know those men. Leora paced the floor between the kitchen and the modest living area, a knot growing in her stomach. I need to know so I can prepare.

Uh huh. Miss Opal formed the dough into smooth biscuits, letting Leora ramble on and on.

Uh huh? Is that all she could say?

Leora pushed aside the flowered curtain that divided her room from the living area and plopped down on her bed. Miss Opal didn’t own enough quilts to keep her warm in the lumpy bed once winter came. The position she’d preferred over this one would have given her a spot on a balmy beach. But someone without a reputation for moving from job to job got that assignment. Instead, she had ended up in the middle of the Appalachian Mountains, where the weather was dreary and teachers were not trusted. Where fathers regarded education as insignificant. A place where the slightest snap of a twig made Leora’s skin prickle. Where every rustle in the bushes tuned up the Deliverance banjo song to play in her head. Where the present felt more like the past.

Leora, Miss Opal said, you get on out there and get it over with.

I know. I know. The springs squeaked when she rose from the bed. The sooner she met with the council of men who ran the community, the sooner she could shake off the intense feelings of apprehension.

For the past seven years, no matter where she taught, she’d been powerless to provide her students with much more than basic reading, writing, and arithmetic. She’d taken teaching assignments in remote places no one else wanted. Before getting too attached to the children, she’d left them to the same life as their parents and their parents before them. Once again, the desire to leave nagged at her.

Wish me luck. Leora walked out the front door, stepping around rotting steps. The screen door slammed behind her.

Uh huh, she heard Miss Opal say.

She climbed into her 1972 Volkswagen bus, pushed the gas pedal to the floor, and pumped three times before turning the key. The sputtering turned into familiar vibrations, to her a comforting purr. She patted the dashboard. Thanks, girl. You never let me down.

Ten minutes later, she parked next to the church the community also used as a schoolhouse and stepped out of the bus. The hair on her arms rose when she observed how deserted it was. Ordinarily, men hung around outside the church, staring as she walked in to teach the children. The sound of children’s laughter often echoed from the small playground. But not today. She stood next to her bus with her arms crossed and glanced toward the thick woods, where she swore she heard rustling.

Warmth spread over her when her favorite student, Billie Morgan, appeared from the thicket where she’d heard the noise.

Uncle said he don’t want you learnin’ us no more. The girl lowered her head.

Doesn’t, Leora said.

Uncle doesn’t. Billie’s smile stretched wide, revealing missing teeth.

The girl had an innocence about her that Leora loved. When Billie looked up, Leora resisted the urge to wipe a streak of dirt from her bare arm. The child would feel the chill of the Appalachian days soon. 

With one hand on her stomach and the other on her cheek, Leora contemplated how best to respond. So, do you mean I’m fired? she asked, keeping it simple.

Yep. Don’t mean. Uh, doesn’t mean I don’t want to learn more. Billie’s eyes were brown like the colors of the forest and carried a look of disenchantment.

Will you promise me something? Leora leaned forward, waiting for a response.

Billie averted her eyes and toed the ground. Depends on what it is.

Never stop reading and learning every chance you get. That’s what she wanted for this student who read everything she got her hands on, the girl who absorbed everything Leora taught her.

I’ll try, Miss Van Leer. Billie’s eyes widened. It appeared no one had brushed or braided her long hair since Leora had a week before. The girl’s parents were deceased, and she lived with her aunt and uncle and six cousins.

Leora removed a small notebook from her pocket and scribbled on the paper. She tore off the sheet and pressed it into the girl’s hand. My phone number and an address where you can write to me. If you ever need anything, you call me.

Billie glanced at the paper as if Leora had given her a gold coin to buy passage out of the hill country. Yes, ma’am. But Uncle won’t let me use the phone.

Then you march right up to Miss Opal’s and use hers.

Yes, ma’am.

You are special, Billie. Intelligent. Curious. Eager to learn. You could have a future away from here. Even go to college.

Billie’s lips spread into a wide smile, and she wrapped her arms around Leora’s waist in a quick hug. Leora returned the smile and watched as Billie disappeared through the hardwood trees. She was the first student to show Leora affection since she’d been in the community, and she would miss her the most when she left for the next contract.

If only she could take Billie away to experience life somewhere other than in the hills of West Virginia. If only Billie understood young girls could be educated, self-sufficient, empowered women who did not depend on fathers or husbands.

Two men sauntered out of the church. The tall one, who always gave Leora the creeps, stood on the steps with his thumbs hitched to the straps of his overalls. The stocky one removed a toothpick, inspecting it before continuing to dig at his teeth. The tall man tilted his head back and pointed his sharp chin at her. Since completing graduate school, she’d worked fourteen contracts in four different countries. Because of the strange, judgmental men who ruled the community, this was her most uncomfortable assignment yet.

Even when she couldn’t see them, she felt their cold eyes on her. That skirt’s too short, one had said. Top’s too low, another had told her. Didn’t see you in church Sunday, yet another had remarked.

On and on, they’d lamented about the heathen books she read to the children and the foolish witchcraft ideas she put in their heads. It was Harry Potter, for crying out loud.

Billie’s uncle ambled out of the church and joined the other two men on the steps. Leora faked a slight smile and walked toward them, glancing down to avoid stumbling over roots protruding from the ground. The last thing she needed was to face plant in the dirt.

The stocky man held up his hand, palm toward her. No need to come no farther. We won’t be needin’ your teaching services no more.

She nodded once, holding her warriorlike stance, not wanting them to see her fear. Time to leave. But this time, she wasn’t the one to break her contract. Being dismissed got her off the hook for being the bad one. She wouldn’t have to look into her students’ disappointed eyes and explain that her leaving had nothing to do with them. She wouldn’t have to convince herself that autumn and the falling leaves sang out for her to find a new contract. It could just as easily have been spring or summer or winter that called. Once again, she’d become too close to the children. Being asked to leave should have made her happy, but her gut told her something else.

Dong. Dong. Dong.

The church bell signaled that her time had ended. She looked at the leaning steeple, the sound of the bell still ringing in her ears, and walked the few yards back to the one thing she could count on. Priscilla was a gift from her grandmother and her home on wheels when needed.

Tree limbs grabbed at her bus like angry fingers as she drove down the rutted trail toward Miss Opal’s house. Women stood on small porches, staring. One woman folded her arms across her chest. Another woman scowled. None of them waved. Billie would end up like these women and the aunt who kept her. Why didn’t the women want better for their daughters?

I can’t help them. I must go.

Priscilla’s front tire plunked into a mud hole and jolted Leora tight against her seatbelt as she pulled in front of Miss Opal’s house. She stepped down from the bus and got halfway to the front steps before the woman appeared. Guess the entire community knows you’re leaving us, Leora. She stood on the wobbly porch and wiped her hands on the frayed apron tied around her thick waist.

News travels fast. Leora arched her brows and tightened her lips. Did you know they were firing me?

Had no idea. Those menfolk don’t tell us women anything. My goodness, girl, you’re shivering.

Those men scared me half to death.

They don’t keep any teacher very long. Miss Opal opened the screen door, and Leora followed her into the grayed and weathered shack the woman called home. She walked to her bedroom to gather her belongings. Every piece of clothing she owned fit into her backpack. She liked to keep things simple. Fewer possessions meant faster escapes when the time came for something new.

Smells good in here. Leora stood next to Miss Opal, enjoying the warmth of the woodstove and the aroma of lima beans and bacon.

Biscuits will be done in a few. You planning on leaving this afternoon? Miss Opal removed butter and blackberry jelly from the fridge and placed them on the table before serving two bowls of beans.

I need to use the library computer in Harpers Ferry to search for a job. Leora took two spoons and two knives from the silverware drawer and placed them on the table. Water okay?

Yes. Thanks for your help. Sure am gonna miss you around here. Miss Opal raised the corner of her apron to her eye and wiped a tear.

How could Leora ever thank Miss Opal for all she’d done? She’d grown to care about her, just as she had the children. And now, as always, she had to leave this woman and her students before they stole more of her heart.

Do you think I could stay one more night? The library will be closed by the time I get there. I could leave early in the morning.

You stay as long as you want. Those old men can deal with it. Miss Opal sliced two hot biscuits, slathered on butter and jelly, and handed one to Leora.

The biscuit melted in her mouth. I’d never tell Grandmother, but your biscuits are better than hers.

Miss Opal smiled, exposing a missing eye tooth. Her complexion was pale, with lines clustering around her eyes and on her forehead.

Why did they fire me? A rush of shame jabbed at her. No one had ever asked her to leave an assignment before.

Most likely because you put too many ideas in the children’s heads, like other towns, and states, and countries. Life outside this godforsaken place.

Well, what do they expect a teacher to do? Her head tilted to the side, anticipating Miss Opal’s answer.

Most likely wanted you to teach the boys how to count hogs and measure moonshine and marijuana. Didn’t want you teaching the girls anything.

But why?

Females are good for cooking and popping out babies—and the stuff in between that causes the babies. Miss Opal held up her hands, palms toward Leora, and leaned back in her chair. These children need to learn, but those men can’t take their heads out of their asses long enough to realize it.

The children are stuck here, aren’t they? Leora’s hand flew to her mouth. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean…

It’s okay. Miss Opal raised her brows and smiled. Being here is definitely being stuck. They shared silence for a few seconds. At least I got away for a while. Her eyes glazed over, and she stared out the window. It was a long ride on that Greyhound bus all the way to San Francisco.

Do you regret coming back?

Didn’t have much of a choice. Had a thirteen-month-old baby and a newborn I couldn’t feed. Only thing to do was come home and beg Pa to take us in.

Must have been difficult for you. Leora reached for a second biscuit. Want me to butter one for you?

No, thanks. Miss Opal patted her tummy. Trying to watch my figure. They both laughed.

You must really miss your children.

Sure do. She wiped her napkin across her eyes. California’s a long way off. Bus tickets cost money I don’t have.

I get it. Miss my grandmother like crazy. Leora licked jelly from her finger and smiled at the rich blackberry flavor.

You keep telling me that, but how long has it been since you were home?

Too long.

You’ve worked all over the world trying to save as many kids as you could. Every time you got close to them, you ran away. Same with men. All those relationships you’ve told me about? She made a clucking sound with her tongue. Not one of them worked out. Ran like a squirrel with his tail on fire, didn’t you?

That’s what I do, Miss Opal.

Uh huh.

What does that mean?

Seems to me it’s time to quit running, settle down with a husband, and have children. A family to love who’ll love you right back.

She can’t know what I need?

Leora awakened the next morning before the sun peeked through the thick trees. She stretched before padding to the bathroom to clean up, taking time on the way to say good morning to Miss Opal and inhale the aroma of strong coffee and fried bacon. She’d eaten so much hog since she’d been in the hill country, she feared oinking was in her future.

You’ll catch your death with that wet hair. The woman heaped Leora’s plate with bacon and biscuits.

I’ve been cold since I got here, even when my hair’s not wet. She crossed her arms to fight the shiver. I’ll miss you. She snickered. Well, not as much as your cooking. She took another bite of biscuit and smiled at Miss Opal’s wagging finger.

The woman’s quick wit and eagerness to laugh reminded Leora of her grandmother. How long had it been since she called her? A week? Two? After she charged her cell and drove far enough to pick up service, she’d give her a ring and let her know how much she loved her. If she had the money, she’d drive to Blossom Inlet for a visit before starting a new assignment. She closed her eyes and drifted away to the beach, imagining the sights and sounds and smells she so loved and her grandmother’s contagious laughter. Her eyes widened when an unpleasant thought of her mother pushed the good ones away. The last person on earth she wanted to see was Violet.

Miss Opal’s voice startled her. Dear, you have been a joy to this old woman. If I ever had a daughter, I’d want her to be kind and caring like you. You’ll drop me a note from time to time, won’t you?

Leora embraced the woman, slung her backpack over her shoulder, and walked toward the bus, Miss Opal at her heels. She turned for a last glimpse at the tiny home. The wood siding had never been important enough for anyone to paint, and the sagging roof would most likely never be repaired. Like many other shacks in the hill country, vines would eventually devour Miss Opal’s home, and the secrets hidden deep in the walls would scream to be heard.

Packed you some biscuits and bacon. Miss Opal handed her a brown paper bag, wrinkled from being used over and over. Don’t want you to starve. She snickered and pinched Leora’s arm. Not much meat on you.

Leora smiled and made a big deal of sniffing the bag. Thanks for everything. You’ve been kind to me. She thought about Miss Opal’s family in California and how awful it was she’d never met her grandchildren. In the back of her mind, she saw Billie stuck for the rest of her life, just as Miss Opal was. If you ever want to escape, you can call me.

Miss Opal nodded and snuffled. I’ll keep your number handy.

Will you watch out for Billie?

The woman nodded.

If she needs anything, please call me. If you need anything at all…

Leora’s eyes teared. Clouds swirled, and the sky grew dark. A gust of wind whipped strands of hair against her face. She removed a leaf from her hair, letting it drop to the ground.

Rain’s coming. Miss Opal rolled her shoulders and rubbed the back of her neck. Rheumatism doesn’t lie. You be careful on those muddy roads.

I will. She tossed her backpack onto the passenger seat and sat up in Priscilla.

The cool morning air caused a shiver to run up her spine as a sense of foreboding came over her. The bus, also feeling the morning chill, clattered when the engine started. She reached into the glove box for her cell phone and plugged the cable into the charging device she’d had installed under the dashboard. By the time her phone charged, perhaps she would run into pockets of coverage and check for messages.

Thunder rolled and lightning lit the dark sky as Leora drove over the rutted mountain roads toward Harpers Ferry. Rain came down in sheets, making it difficult to determine what was road and what was ditch. After two miserable hours of driving, she parked at the library.

Finding an assignment didn’t concern her. She’d go to the agency’s website, locate a couple of jobs no one else wanted, and then email her contact. Her reputation for leaving assignments before they ended always preceded her, so cushy jobs were not an option. There had been good reasons to leave.

Teachers shouldn’t get too close to their students. And men shouldn’t expect commitment from her.

CHAPTER 2

When the computer screen lit up, Leora entered the agency’s URL and waited for the list of jobs to pop up. High school Bible teacher in Haiti. No. Teachers Without Borders had an opening for teaching peace and human rights. She tapped her pen on the table as she scrolled. The woman across from her raised a brow. Leora faked a smile and stopped the drumming. Girls’ education in South Africa. Possibly. But hadn’t she told herself no more contracts outside the US for a while? Her grandmother wasn’t getting any younger. What if she needed her to help at the bed and breakfast?

Nothing appealed to her. How long would she continue working for pennies and living in horrible places under unspeakable conditions? Not only was she sick of traveling, but she also felt tired and worn out. No matter how much she taught the children, most of the time they would never escape their way of life. What if she found a job in a grade school in Florida? Maybe Miss Opal’s suggestion about settling down was right on target.

Her phone pinged. In a rush to search for an assignment, she’d spaced checking messages. Delete. Delete. Her last chance to renew her auto warranty. Delete. Higher limit on her Master Card approved. Delete. Free vacation. Her eyes widened, and she sucked in air when she saw the text from her mother.

Call me. Need to talk.

How did Violet get her number? The next message was from Mr. Gomez, her grandmother’s attorney and friend.

Leora, dear, call me. Something we need to discuss. ASAP.

With her backpack slung over her shoulder, she hurried to Priscilla. Had something happened to her grandmother? Her sister?

Darn it all. Only one bar showed on her cell, and she knew from experience that reception was spotty in the library parking lot. She pumped the gas pedal three times, turned the ignition, and hung a left onto the road leading to a truck stop. She’d planned to find a job, not talk with the woman who had abandoned her right after she was born. And why had her father deserted her? Surely, he’d never known about Leora. Otherwise, he would have ridden in on a white horse and rescued her. She envisioned him with amber eyes and copper-colored hair like hers.

But what would her grandmother say? Van Leer women do not wait for men to rescue us. We rescue ourselves.

The clicking of the turn signal moved her back to the present. She parked and grabbed her emergency stash of coins from the glove box. Standing in the phone booth, she separated quarters and dimes, dropped them in the slots, and pushed the sticky silver buttons. Best to ring Violet first, but she refused to call collect, even if it took her last quarter.

Her mother answered on the fourth ring. Hello.

Hey, Violet.

Well, it’s about time you called. I texted you three times. You need to come home. Your grandmother died.

Died?

The handset fell from Leora’s hands and swung against the phone booth wall. She’d talked with her grandmother two weeks before. Or had it been longer? She must have misunderstood Violet. Izora Van Leer could not be dead. She still dyed her hair, for heaven’s sake.

Leora! Leora Izora Van Leer. For once will you listen to your mother?

Mother? She’d lost the right to be called mother when she abandoned her infant daughter.

Violet’s shrill voice made its way through the handset that dangled from its cord. Leora wanted to stomp up and down on the black plastic, destroying it and erasing everything Violet had said.

In what seemed like slow motion, Leora returned the handset to her ear. Dead?

You need to call her attorney. Gomez. That’s his name. Hold on. I’ll get his number.

I have it. I’ll call him. Leora’s hand tightened over her stomach. If only she could push the pain inside and forbid it to come out.

Then you leave whatever stupid place you’re in and get your rear end home. I can’t sell the house with those bloodsuckers there. And I can’t get them out until we settle the estate. For some ridiculous reason, that attorney Gomez says he won’t read the will without you.

Violet continued to babble. Leora held the phone away from her ear. Her grandmother was dead, and all Violet could think about was selling the house.

You’re not listening, Violet said. You make it hard on your family by living so far off the grid it’s impossible to call you. That’s inconsiderate. Just downright selfish. You need to…

Family? Since when?

Click. Leora ended the call.

Nausea clawed at her throat, giving her little time to get to the thicket of trees next to the parking lot. The contents of her stomach emptied into the rotting leaves. The pungent stench filled her nostrils, causing her to retch and heave until nothing more came up except green bile. She pulled a tissue from her pocket, wiped her mouth, and walked back to Priscilla.

She swished bottled water around in her mouth and spat it out. The wrapper stuck to the half piece of gum she found in her glove box, and soon the flavor of spearmint defused the taste of vomit. She snatched the small address book from her backpack and flipped to Mr. Gomez’s information. A tear rolled down her cheek, staining the page next to his number.

Mr. Gomez, thanks for accepting the charges.

No problem.

Is it true? She’s gone?

I’m afraid so, dear. Her heart gave out in the middle of the night.

If only Leora had gone back last summer as planned, felt her grandmother’s comforting arms around her, and inhaled her sweet gardenia perfume. She could never tell her she loved her again.

I know how much you loved her, and she loved you with all her heart. I’m so sorry.

Leora broke into sobs, sucking in breaths between each bellow, and beating her hands against the side of the booth. Why? she cried. Why did she have to die?

Mr. Gomez’s words traveled through the receiver, but she didn’t understand what he was saying. She didn’t want him to console her. She wanted to feel white-hot pain scorch her stomach and each gasp of air burn her throat.

The one person in her life who loved her was gone.

Priscilla knocked and sputtered if Leora pushed her over fifty miles an hour. She’d have to drive the back roads for the fifteen-hour drive to Apalachicola. That didn’t bother her. Longer on the road meant more time before facing her mother.

She’d been nothing but a disappointment to Violet her entire life. In her mother’s eyes, a woman pushing thirty should have married, had a few babies, and served as Junior Service League president. You don’t need an education. I’ll find you a rich man, her mother had said more times than Leora could recall.

She pushed away thoughts of marriage, babies, and wealthy men as the wind almost lifted Priscilla off the road. Her hands tightened on the steering wheel. She strained her eyes to see through the blinding rain.

The washouts grew deeper, and the rain refused to let up. Blue lights flashed ahead. She stopped and cranked down the window. An officer with a plastic-covered hat poked his head in far enough for rainwater to drip onto the sleeve of her shirt. Detour, miss. Bridge washed out.

Can I cross the creek somewhere else?

As he nodded, more droplets trickled from the plastic. Turn left here and follow the signs. About ten miles down, take a right. That bridge will take you over to Sleepy Town.

Thanks.

Someone had nailed it when they named the little hole in the wall Sleepy Town. A small convenience store with two gas pumps stood on the left. A motel with an attached diner was on the right. She pulled up next to a gas pump and began filling Priscilla. The noxious smell of fuel mixed with the scent of hamburgers from the