Murder In the Ferns

By Melissa Dill

Someone killed Cousin Maizie. Someone right here in this hotel, while Maizie's body lies in state in the lobby.

"It's an accident," they say. Sure. She accidentally fell down the elevator shaft while firing her gun. I don't believe that for a second.

The question is: who did it, and why?

Come and join the Fern family in their faux-Victorian hotel where things just keep getting weirder: cryptic messages, suspicious relatives, family secrets, and a pair of mismatched galoshes. Trust no one, and whatever you do, don't get in the elevator.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Melissa Dill
• Release date: Aug 9, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463226087

Melissa Dill

I am a writer of poetry and short fiction. I live in Seattle with my husband and two toddlers.After exiting my vocation (Social Work) to care for my children, I discovered that I suddenly had a lot of things to say.Most of my writing is available at no cost on my blog, listed below. I have just finished my second Smashwords exclusive book (!).Writing is my whim and secret joy. So, lean in and let me whisper to you; the funny, the beautiful, the absurd.

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Murder In The Ferns

Published by Melissa Dill at Smashwords

Copyright 2019 Melissa Dill

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

Thank you for downloading this ebook. You are welcome to share it with your friends. This book may be reproduced, copied and distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided the book remains in its complete original form. If you enjoyed this book, please return to your favorite ebook retailer to discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support.

Table of Contents

The Beginning

The Ghost

Twin Souls

The Accident

The Journal

The Elevator

The Sign

The Fourth Son

Coniferous

Forsaken

The Dumbwaiter

Captive

Rescue

Proper Folk

Cover Story

Counterweight

Addendum

Other books by Melissa Dill

Connect with Melissa Dill

Ex Libris S. Fern

Names have been changed to protect the innocent and the guilty.

That's what Ferns do - don't get me started.

-Cresol Fern

Fern Family Tree

The Beginning

I dare say, he said, that you are politic enough not to write about us.

I wouldn’t imagine that anyone would care to read the history of the Ferns, I waved my hand at the oil paintings crowding the walls with their dark glares. Nobody would want to read about those fuddy-duddys. The Ferns were not exactly prosperous, not especially well known, but they were as prolific as the rats in the walls of this very hotel and proper in that quasi-neo-Victorian way that has become so popular recently.

My father-in-law tugged at his tie, I mean, about the accident.

I shouldn’t dream of it, I crossed my fingers behind my back.

As soon as the sun dropped out of the sky into the waiting arms of the mountains, I slipped out of my own bed and into this very book. Stealth was unnecessary, as my husband Aero was obliged to renew the acquaintance of each of the 11 cousins who filled the half empty hotel. Even with its rambling exterior and faux antiques, Hotel Fern experienced a significant off-season when the sky turned grey and the ocean took on the type of menace that would sooner smother you with its icy grasp than pull you out to sea.

So I will endeavor to tell this story from the beginning, even though the beginning was so long ago that I am bound to make an error here and there. Still, it is important to examine everything. Someone wanted Cousin Maizie dead and whoever that person may be, they are under this very roof, while Maizie lies in state. In the lobby. Yes, you read that correctly, Maizie’s corpse is in the hotel lobby where every family member and hotel guest can pay their respects.

I should have kept my mouth shut during the viewing, but I couldn’t help myself. Cresol was leaning over the casket right next to me. Just wait a few days, I whispered to her, then this situation will really start to stink.

She laughed a little too hard, earning suspicious glances from the other Ferns. Cresol is the youngest daughter of the oldest Fern, Alder. Even though she has the almond-shaped eyes and glossy black hair of her mother, she has the typical snub Fern nose. No one escapes the Fern nose. Cresol’s oldest brother is named Coal. He is the only cousin who is absent. I’ve actually never met him, only hearing rumors about his fragile mental state. She also has two sisters, Carbon and Cinder, the twins who share the same complexion and build, but not the same face. Cresol and Cinder are both married; Cresol to Helio, who looks like a troll doll and Cinder to Zephyr, who smiles too much without cause.

The second son is Birch. He and his wife, Geranium have two children, Aero and Amarillo. Aero, as I mentioned, is my husband. Both of them, like most Ferns, have blonde hair, dark eyes, and short, turned up noses.

The third son is Cedar, who with his wife Rhododendron, have four boys. Breaking with the weird alphabetic traditions of this family, they named them Fulvous (married to Talin), Garnet, Jonquil (married to Chantrelle), and Zaffre, all boys, all blonde, well, you get the idea.

The fourth son is Dogwood, who has married a long string of women that no one can keep track of. I think he’s single at the moment, but you never know. He is the father of Wisteria (married to Abalone), Cerise (married to Tomtom), and the late Maizie. Except for the nose, none of his daughters look alike. Wisteria has tawny skin and full lips. Cerise has to paint her lips on and has naturally red hair and translucent skin. Maizie has, or had, hair the color of corn and intelligent eyes, if you believe her obituary.

Besides that, there is a gaggle of young children here, ranging in age from infancy to early teens. I’m not even going to try to account for all the tiny snub noses and blonde heads. None of them murdered Maizie, and the only ones I really care about are my two, Trefoil and Sucre, and Cresol’s daughter Horizon.

If I were a detective, I would start with the person who had the most reason to want Maizie dead. In other words, I would start with myself.

——

It all started when I was pregnant with Trefoil. It was the warm season and the merest step outside made me faint with the heat and humidity. We should take a trip to Hotel Fern, Aero suggested as I wobbled to the car, the ocean breeze is refreshing. He paused for a moment then added, My cousins might be visiting there too.

That sounds nice, I pulled my sticky shirt away from my chest, I’ve never met your cousins.

I had no idea what I was agreeing to.

A month later, we drove towards the coast through green farmlands and past small towns of cracker box houses with dry lawns. I knew immediately when we were near the water, the air moved from stillness to blustery gusts. I rolled down my window and took my first breath of briny air. Seagulls circled overhead, crying their peculiar half-dirge, half-ice cream truck song. The air pushed itself into the car, surrounding me in a cool exhilaration.

There it is, Aero pulled into a parking lot, entering a circular cobblestone drive. We bumped along to the front door, where a uniformed doorman was stationed. Hotel Fern stretched above us, the peaked roofline impossible to see from our vantage point. The front doors were framed in my window, brass knobs and glass polished to a high shine. The door man spit, drawing my eye to the copper spittoon.

I pointed at it in surprise, What is that little pot?

It’s a cuspidor, you know, uh, spittoon? Aero popped the trunk, "I have no idea if