Cranberry Bluff by Deborah Garner Read Free Book Online Page B

the same. Home felt secure. Being away from home meant being out of his comfort zone, yet what good detective always stayed home?
    The head of the agency was a stickler for details. He called Mr. Miller “The Detail Man,” which was a high compliment, as far as he was concerned. It was one of the things he respected about the agency, the way they valued specific information. Few people truly appreciated an orderly report. They were result oriented. Results meant getting paid. The faster the results were in, the sooner the money was in the bank. Or back in the bank, in this particular instance.
    Personally, he didn’t care about money, which was good, since the agency paid so poorly. He had accrued a hefty savings over the years and invested his money so wisely that he knew he could retire young. What he did care about was order. He hadn’t missed a single Perry Mason episode while growing up and it bugged him to this day how many cases could have been solved sooner. If only Della had made orderly lists for Mr. Mason instead of just making phone calls and discussing things. Now, if he, Mr. Miller, had been on those cases, it would have been different. They never would have missed anything. The shows might have been shorter, but they could have solved more than one mystery per episode. Maybe ten or twenty – yes, twenty would have been perfect. One every three minutes…no, make that two minutes and twenty seconds, to allow for advertising.
    The point was people were not as detail oriented as they needed to be, especially in the field of detective work. With this thought in mind, he opened the notebook again and looked over his current list. Double-checking everything was crucial. Had he missed anything? No. Every detail about her was recorded – clothing, hair, jewelry and behavior. One more day of observations and he would have a list to turn in.

CHAPTER NINE
    Molly set the registration book aside and turned her thoughts to the following morning’s breakfast. No one was checking out and no one was arriving, so she’d have the same number of mouths to feed. She’d need to make a market run that afternoon, in time to be back before the wine and cheese hour at five o’clock. This reminded her to pick up a round of Gouda cheese, as well as the breakfast supplies. As for the morning menu, French toast with fresh raspberries would make a main entrée. She’d do a basic egg scramble with herbs from the inn’s garden to go along with it. And maybe…yes, fresh squeezed juice, cranberry applesauce and two types of baked goods, for variety.
    List made, she set it aside and thought about the current mix of guests. They were an odd group, no two people similar in any way. The newlyweds were young and sweet. The effervescent woman from San Francisco was a bundle of enthusiasm. The quiet businessman was nondescript – obviously someone who liked to be left alone. And that other man, that…handsome, infuriating man! He was harder to figure out, but she’d put her money on the playboy type. Wealthy, spoiled, entitled…the list could go on and on. She’d worked with people like that back at the ad agency in Florida.
    She shuddered as thoughts of Florida crossed her mind again. She tried hard not to think about the life she left behind, but reminders still nudged their way in. The phone was a perfect example. She never answered it directly, but she would still reach for the phone when she heard it. She was prompt about returning messages, usually getting back to people within a few minutes. Excuses were easy – “I just stepped out” or “I was helping a guest.” No one ever questioned why a machine answered in this day and age. It let her screen the calls.
    What made her nervous were the hang-ups in voicemail. They were probably nothing important, only computer solicitations or marketing surveys. And prospective guests would rather talk to a person than a machine, so they were likely to call back another time. Still,