The best thing is…Season Two is coming out June 1!!! Stay tuned…
After her husband ditches her for a blonde actress wannabe, Jane Seymour needs a job that pays the rent. The struggling Roche Hotel needs a miracle. With the former owner’s wife butting her nose into the renovations and new owners who are in way over their heads, Jane may be the answer to their prayers. Sure, she can handle The Roche Hotel’s quirky staff. But, can this skittish divorcee keep it all together when handsome Henry the Donut Guy makes his first delivery? This collection of serial fiction stories is a Tudorific romantic comedy that will leave you laughing out loud and hungry for more.
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Business is Dead
“There’s a dead body in room 12.”
“What?” I hope I’ve heard Jerry wrong, but dead body doesn’t loan itself to misinterpretation. Not at 4:13 AM, and not with three cups worth of caffeine in my veins.
“Sort of half-in, half-out,” he says through his Sasquatch facial hair. “His legs are in the hallway, and his head’s in the room. Better call 911.”
Jerry’s serious. Without a moment’s hesitation, I pick up the phone and do just that. I call the Smythes next. Richard is silent for a few seconds, then says, “I’m on my way.”
I hang up the phone and shiver. I’ve been here all of two weeks, and now someone’s died on my shift? Of course, it has to be the guy who came in with the escorts last night. Will I be blamed for letting hookers in the hotel? Maybe they were too much for him. Whatever the case, I am not at all prepared for this catastrophe. I studied the hotel handbook. There was plenty on first aid, CPR, and other such interventions, but there was no mention of what to do when you find guests already dead.
Minutes later, the hotel is swarming with police, EMT’s, and the Fire Department. I’m not certain why all of them are necessary when there’s only one dead guy involved.
The questioning feels like an alcohol-induced dream:
“Do you know the names of the ladies he arrived with?”
“No, why would I?”
“Do you remember when they left?”
“Around 3:00 AM.”
“Did they seem distraught or upset when they left?”
“No, they were giggling and stumbling all over each other. They carried their high-heels, and one of them had a bottle of wine. They left in a cab.”
“Did the gentleman look to be in bad health?”
“No. He was laughing and a little red-faced. He paid in cash and asked me to not forward any calls to his room.”
One of the officers digs around in the lobby’s trash can. “Did Councilman Harris eat anything from the vending machine? Looks like this Oh Henry bar was expired.”
“Councilman? What? No…” With impeccable timing, Henry the Donut guy arrives at 5:00AM while I’m admitting to my less-than-ideal dinner. “…I ate that. I don’t know if the dead man, Councilman, whatever—I don’t know what he ate.”
The officers seem satisfied with my testimony and move on to question Jerry further. I feel sorry for him, having found the body. I hope they don’t finger him as a suspect. Sure, he looks like something you’d see in those blurry Bigfoot photos, but I think he’s pretty harmless.
“Are you all right?” Henry asks. “Can I get you a cup of coffee?”
I feel cold, so I hug myself and nod. It’s a little weird, Henry comforting me after my Scarlett O’Hara performance last night. He gets us both a cup from the breakfast area and comes back to my side, handing the steaming Styrofoam container to me.
“Thanks,” I say, taking a sip of the cheap brew.
The EMTs roll a stretcher through the lobby, with a sheet-covered body on it. A corner of the sheet snags on something and the Councilman makes one last public appearance. His eyes are wide open, staring up at the ceiling. His mouth is frozen into a Cheshire Cat smile, while his cheeks and neck are covered with lipstick stains in a hideous shade of orange-red.
“I guess he had too good of a time last night,” Henry whispers.
Other writing pursuits include serving as a class mentor in Writers Village University's seven week online course, F2K. She has published one children’s book, Quentin’s Problem (as Misty Baker), with another (Fuzzy Buzzy’s Treasure) coming this spring.
When she's not writing fiction, Mysti works as a freelance editor and copywriter. She also reviews books for SQ Magazine, an online specfic publication, and is the proud owner of Unwritten, a blog voted #3 for eCollegeFinder's Top Writing Blogs award. She resides in Buckner, KY with her husband and three children.