Page 24 of The Murder Inn

“Hi,” the boy said and lifted the creature so I could see it. “I found this big mouse.”

I recognized the fat rodent as Effie’s pet.

“That’s actually a rat,” I said. “His name’s Crazy. He belongs to one of the residents here.”

“He might not be a rat. He might be a mega mouse.”

“Ahhh, well, that’s a good point.” I laughed. “Could be. I’m not an expert.”

I went over and straightened the tiny purple collar that Effie had fashioned for Crazy the rat so that the little bell, no biggerthan a ball bearing, hung at the rodent’s throat. “Where’d you find him?”

“He was sleeping in the big room with all the chairs.” The child and I stroked Crazy together, one fingertip each, until the rat clambered up his arm, making him giggle as it settled on his shoulder.

“Crazy likes it in the sitting room,” I said. “It’s the warmest place in the house. You’re a brave boy to just pick him up like that. Some of the people who live here are afraid of this little guy.”

“Well, I have a hamster at my house,” the boy said. “So I’m not scared of little animals. I really like birds. One time me and my mom saved a bird that got too wet in a storm. Its feathers got all spiky and we had to dry it off. We put it in a box and we gave it some water and in the morning it felt all better.”

“Aren’t you nice!” I laughed. The boy stifled a smile.

“I gueeeeess.”

“You and your mom must have gotten here yesterday morning. Is that right?” I asked.

“Um, yeah.”

“This inn is my place. I’m sorry I wasn’t here to welcome you.”

“That’s OK.”

“What’s your name?”

“Um…” The boy tapped a finger on his chin thoughtfully, the mock detective pondering a clue. “Today I’m going to be Shannon.”

“You have different names on different days?” I said. “That’s a fun game.”

“It’s not a game.” The child frowned. “It’s very serious.”

“OK,” I said with a nod, trying to look stern. “So what’s my name for today then?”

“Uhhh,” Shannon said. He considered me, then took the rat down and cupped it in both his hands. He began laughing at his own joke even before it had left his lips. “Mister Butthead Man.”

“MisterButtheadMan?” I roared in mock outrage, rising to my full height. “How dare you?”

The boy took off toward the house, repeating the nickname and leaping up the porch steps. He almost slammed into Susan’s legs as he went through the front doors. Susan recovered and headed down the steps toward me.

“Have you come here to insult me as well?” I asked as she put a mug of coffee in my hand.

“If that’s what you want, although I think Mister Butthead Man has a certain ring to it.”

“Cute kid.”

“Very outspoken.” Susan nodded. “He just finished telling me that my hair is all wrong. I’d be better as a brunette.”

“I don’t see it.”

“Not sure where his mother is,” Susan said. She pulled her silky blond strands up into a ponytail and secured it with an elastic band. “The child just seems to have free rein. I saw him helping Effie change a tire earlier, and then I had to rescue him from hearing all about Angelica’s brief but nonetheless illuminating foray into trading rare, discontinued shades of oil paint across southeast Asia.”

“Wow.”

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