Heather Horrocks - Who-Dun-Him Inn 02 - Inn the Doghouse by Heather Horrocks Read Free Book Online Page A

lunatics driving them thought engaging all four wheels meant they didn’t have to use their brakes—or their brains.
    I dropped David and Zach off at the Silver City Library, a stately, old pioneer building. Zach was returning books and hoping to find more with David, who seemed to enjoy helping him. I wouldn’t be surprised to find a book titled, How to Hypnotize Your Mother into Adopting a Whole Houseful of Dogs appear at the Inn. If Zach started singing “I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas,” I intended to put my foot down.
    I headed up Main Street toward the Moose Muffin Café, which was only a block and a half away. When I found a parking spot for my Jeep right in front, I considered it a good omen and pushed through the doors to find DeWayne and Paul seated at a booth. Paul waved me over. They were looking at menus, which they always did—before they ordered their usual favorites: DeWayne had chicken-fried steak and mashed potatoes, while Paul liked the half-pound mooseburger, which wasn’t moose at all, just a huge hamburger.
    I sat down beside my brother. A moment later, our waitress strutted over with a big smile—Crystal. She looked happy to see us…well, to see DeWayne . She barely made eye contact with me. As always, the big doofus seemed oblivious to it all.
    If David hadn’t already fixed us yummy soup for lunch, I would have placed an order for my standard Moose Muffin Salad, which was just a glorified chef salad with breaded chicken strips on top. It also happened to be the specialty of the house. I ordered a mug of hot chocolate and watched Crystal sashay her cute little behind back to the kitchen. “That’s some package.”
    DeWayne said, “Huh?”
    Like I said, clueless.
    Could he really be that oblivious? I mean, I know men are dense and all, but really! Shaking my head, I said, “Never mind.”
    “What Vicki is trying to say, Officer Smith,” Paul nudged DeWayne, “is that Crystal Maynard likes you.”
    DeWayne’s rugged face flushed red as he flashed a glance after her. “You’re full of it.”
    “Come on, DeWayne,” I said. “Didn’t you notice her hanging all over you last night?”
    “She was just being friendly.” He promptly hid the “aw-shucks” look on his face by forking some mashed potatoes into his mouth.
    Paul caught my eye and grinned. I guess he was married long enough to be aware of at least some of the nuances in male/female nonverbal communication. Dropping the subject, he asked, “We were talking about the new residential development going up along Silver Creek. What do you think of it, Vicki?”
    Silver Creek was the fancy new subdivision being built by none other than Liz’s husband, Gene Eklund, and his former business partner, Lamont Williams, on land formerly owned by Matt Borman’s dad. “I’m sorry that our town’s growing so fast, actually, and spreading up that far, but it’s no surprise. You can’t stop progress, right?”
    “I suppose not,” Paul said, and DeWayne nodded.
    For the past twenty years, the population of nearby Heber and Park City had exploded, especially after the 2002 Winter Olympics were hosted in Utah. Apparently, home prices were so much cheaper here than in places like California that people could sell their small homes there and use the equity to pay cash for McMansions here.
    Well, I certainly couldn’t complain. I had the biggest house around, though I shared with paying guests. Most of the bedrooms—a total of fifteen, counting the carriage house suite and the last two rooms, due for completion next summer—were guest rooms in my mystery bed-and-breakfast called the Who-Dun-Him Inn.
    Hearing men’s deep laughter sounding behind us, we turned. The older men seated at the Round Table were still smiling. I noticed Paul’s wistful gaze lingered on them. Receiving an invitation to sit at the Round Table was definitely an item on his bucket list.
    As I turned back around, I caught a glimpse through the window of a