Fiction by L.K. Campbell

“Mrs. Adams. Mrs. Adams.”

Hearing the urgency in her employee’s voice, Celeste sprinted into the laundry room and found her newest housekeeper in a panic, struggling to catch her breath.

“Angel, lower your voice. Guests might hear you,” she whispered. “Come in the kitchen and tell me what’s wrong.”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Adams,” Angel said. “But I was nearly attacked.”

Celeste wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Attacked? By who? Where?”

“Room 201,” she said. “As soon as I entered the room, a black, demon creature jumped off the table in front of me, ran around the bed, bounced off the mattress, and crawled under the sofa. I stooped down, lifted the dust skirt, and saw a pair of wild eyes, yellow as the sun, staring back at me. It lunged at me. I ran for the door and slammed it shut before the critter could escape into the hall.”

Celeste struggled to keep from laughing, and she heard a squeak from her septuagenarian cook’s throat. Angel’s cheeks flushed at their apparent amusement, and she lowered her head.

“You don’t believe me,” Angel said. “You think I’m telling a story.”

She squeezed Angel’s shoulder. “I believe you. Doris should’ve told you to skip number 201. It’s Henrietta’s room, and the demon you saw is her cat, Sweet Pea.”

The young woman straightened up. “Sweet nothing,” she said. “That cat is wild.”

Even standing at her full height, the braided, brunette bun atop Angel’s head only reached Celeste’s chin. Her small stature and youthful appearance had prompted Celeste to request proof of her age during her job interview.

“Sweet Pea isn’t a mean cat, and she was more afraid of you than you were of her,” Henrietta said.

“Your cat didn’t look frightened to me.” Angel sighed and turned to leave. “I’ll start my housekeeping in Room 202.”

Angel entered the stairwell in the hallway, and Celeste returned to her cook’s side. She began transferring bacon and eggs to the buffet dishes.

“Sweet Pea doesn’t mean to cause trouble,” Henrietta said. “She’s been through so much, and it will be nice to return home. The Samaritans have told me the house will be ready in two weeks.”

Henrietta Tucker had been staying at The Gran Vista for five months since Hurricane Helene had emptied its torrential rains on the Appalachians. As Henrietta had told the story, she’d scrambled up the hillside behind her home to escape the rising water, holding Sweet Pea’s carrier in one hand and a grocery bag full of her most cherished possessions in the other. Halfway to the hotel, she’d been forced to abandon her vehicle and continue on foot. Celeste had always suspected her cook’s soft, sweet exterior hid a lot of tenacity and resilience. Her suspicion had been confirmed when the older woman had staggered to the kitchen door—cold, wet, and weary from her dangerous hike to safety.

“You have no need to explain, Henrietta. I’m thankful the hotel withstood the storm, and I was able to house you and Sweet Pea.”

“In my seventy-four years, I never saw anything like it. My cousin and her husband, down in Burnsville, had to live in a tent until a kind person in Indiana donated a camper to them. They’re finally getting some help building a new home.”

Celeste filled the bread baskets with Henrietta’s biscuits and delivered them to the buffet table. Seeing tourists filling the café again, enjoying breakfast, warmed her heart. Her mind wandered back to the autumn months. An emergency closure might have become a permanent one. One storm could’ve cost her the dream she and Howard had built. Don’t dwell on what could’ve happened. Be grateful for what is.

The Gran Vista’s elevation had saved it from sustaining major damage. The creek behind the property, however, had become a raging avalanche of water. By the time it subsided, it had wiped out the Parkway’s walking trail and the hotel’s picnic grounds. Thankfully, it didn’t make it up the steep hill to her cottage or the hotel’s main building.

They had lost power, but her groundskeeper, Kevin, had been monitoring the forecast and preparing for the onslaught. He had boarded up Gran Vista’s first-floor windows, filled water barrels, and gassed up the generators before the storm hit. Kevin had been nothing less than a blessing to her. How will I ever replace him if he retires?

“Keep the bacon and eggs coming,” she said to Henrietta. “Our guests have big appetites this morning.”

“It’s on the way.”

Her phone vibrated against her hip, and Celeste reached for it in her apron pocket. The screen displayed her best friend’s name.

“Hello, Abby,” she said. “I was going to call you this morning. Devin Clifford, the foreman from Wright Construction, dropped off the keys to your new front door a little while ago. They’ve finished your repairs.”

“Yes, Ethan Wright emailed me. We had planned to come back this week,” Abby said. “But I saw snow on your local forecast.”

“It’s only a dusting. Tomorrow is supposed to be sunny. You know how the weather is this time of year.”

“Still, we’ve decided to wait until next week to drive up there. Hold on a minute.” Celeste could hear Abby speaking to her husband, Mark, in the background. “Would you do me a favor, Celeste?”

“Of course. Just name it.”

“Would you go over to our cabin and inspect the repairs? Mr. Wright emailed photos to us, but it’s not the same as seeing it in person.”

Abby’s cabin had also numbered among Helene’s victims. Luckily, Abby and Mark Benson had left the mountains a week ahead of the hurricane’s arrival to spend the fall and winter months in Myrtle Beach. When the camera on their alarm system ceased sending photos, Abby placed an emergency call to Celeste. Thanks to the satellite phone system her late husband had installed, Celeste hadn’t been cut off from the outside world.

A few days later, after Holloway Mountain Road had been cleared of debris, Celeste had driven her Jeep over to the cabin. She’d discovered that an ancient, uprooted tree had obliterated the front porch. One of the tree limbs gouged a large hole in the roof, allowing rainwater to saturate part of the cabin’s interior.

“Abby, I’m not a construction expert. Perhaps, Cameron would be willing to look at your cabin and give you his honest opinion.”

“Sounds great,” Abby said. “How is Cameron?”

“Doing great. He’s pretty much taken over for me. Maybe his old Mama will be able to retire soon.”

“No way, you love the hotel too much to surrender it completely. I look forward to hearing from you,” Abby said.

“I’ll see you soon.”

Celeste touched the End Call icon. Abby and Mark would be pleased with the results. She was sure of it. After all, she’d recommended Ethan Wright. He owned a large construction company based in Winston-Salem and had sent crews into the area to aid with storm recovery. She’d housed and fed many of his workers who had helped return her community to a normal footing.

Ethan’s stay at The Gran Vista had prompted him to book rooms for the upcoming “Hiking Grandfather” charity event. The three-day weekend provided both relaxation for his employees and also raised money for storm relief. She hadn’t received any information yet on whether all of Grandfather’s trails were open and ready for hikers. She had her fingers crossed for the event.

“Bacon is ready,” Henrietta said.

“I’m on it,” she said. “Your favorite helper was on the phone. She’ll be back next week.”

“I will be glad to see her only…” Henrietta stopped speaking and placed an index finger to her lips.

“Only what?”

“This year, I hope we won’t be in the middle of a murder investigation when she returns.”

Henrietta’s frank comment made Celeste gasp, although Abby had expressed the same sentiment a year earlier. She’d returned from the beach in time for the events surrounding Eve Penny Tolliver’s death. How many times could Gran Vista be mentioned in the same sentence as mysterious death before the hotel gained a reputation for it?

Using her index fingers, Celeste formed an “x”. “Not this time, Henrietta. Don’t jinx the present by bringing up the past.”

She took the bacon tray out to the café. Glancing up, she saw her son walking toward the kitchen. His strong resemblance to his father made her smile. The thick, dark hair, the dimples in his round face, and even his steady, determined gait as he made his way toward her reminded her of Howard. Working with him at the hotel had been a joy. In the aftermath of the storm, he’d been eager to volunteer for search and rescue operations. Spending two weeks in the mountains had nudged him to resign from his job back east and help her operate the hotel.

When he entered the kitchen, he removed his glasses and grabbed a paper napkin from the dispenser to clean them.

“Get a plate and have some bacon and eggs,” she said.

“No thanks, Mom. I don’t eat breakfast.”

She couldn’t help frowning, but kept her opinion to herself. At age thirty-five, Cameron could make his own dietary choices.

“After I finish here, would you ride over to Abby’s cabin with me?” she asked. “She wants us to inspect the work Wright Construction did for her.”

Cameron snickered. “I was a property tax appraiser—not a building inspector. I’m sure it’s fine, but I’ll be glad to look it over.”

She patted his cheek. “Thank you.”

“I heard some good news a while ago,” he said. “The Parkway has reopened down to Linville.”

“Wonderful,” she said. “Our recovery is moving along.”

“And I called the public affairs office at Grandfather Mountain to ask if all the trails have reopened,” he said. “They are open and ready for visitors, and I relayed the information to the office manager, Tori Rogers, at Wright Construction.”

“You’re so efficient,” she said. “Just like your dad, but I do wonder…” She paused. Don’t put your foot in it, Celeste.

“Wonder what?”

“We’ve had this discussion before,” she said.

“Mom, for the last time, my decision was a long time coming, and I didn’t do it because I think you’re getting old and need all the help you can get.”

She tightened her lips and twisted an imaginary key against her mouth. She’d almost said, But you’re giving up so much security. How many times had she used security as an excuse not to move to the mountains? And how many times since her husband’s death had she regretted it?

“I won’t say another word,” she said. “Now, did you confirm the reservations with Miss Rogers? If I recall, they’ve taken the whole second floor, except for Henrietta’s room, and four rooms on the third floor.”

“Oh, they also want a suite on the fourth floor,” he said. “Mr. Wright’s wife has decided to join them, and she insisted on a suite.”

Her surprise must have registered on her face.

“Why the incredulous look?” he asked.

Celeste shrugged her shoulders. “When he and some of his crew stayed here during the weeks following the hurricane, I was under the impression he was getting a divorce.”

“Maybe they’ve reconciled. I guess it can happen for some people.”

Cameron started to walk off but pinched a biscuit from the bread basket on his way out.

“Yes, I suppose it can,” she whispered.

However, divorce was another subject she wouldn’t broach with her son. The dissolution of his marriage had been too painful for him, and the wounds were still fresh. On the other hand, Ethan Wright’s divorce, or rather non-divorce, intrigued her. During his last stay at the hotel, a phone call from his wife had left him wrung out and depressed. Celeste had made him her special hot buttered rum and allowed him to pour out his heart to her. Now, as impossible as it seemed, the relationship had taken a turn for the better.

* * *

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ISBN-13: 9798232344177
Words: 42,885
Published: Oct 5, 2025
Categories: Fiction » Mystery & detective » Cozy » Amateur sleuth