1 Off Kilter by Hannah Reed Page B

police officer from earlier talking to several inn guests. “Sean Stevens called and warned me that you might need a friend,” she said. “I almost had a heart attack when the phone rang at that hour of the morn, but I’m glad he let me know.” She looked down at my bare legs, still exposed to the crisp night air.
    “Everything I own except this computer is up in my room,” I told her. “Passport, cash, shoes, everything.”
    “Come home with me, then, and we’ll fix you up.”
    “I can’t leave yet. What if they let me back into my room?”
    Vicki took a moment to study the situation—the fire truck and the smoke still escaping from the open window. “It won’t happen for hours, if then. Plus, you smell like a chimney and you’re half-naked under that blanket. Let’s get you a shower and you can wear one of my nighties. It’ll be a bit big for you, but I suspect you won’t mind.”
    Vicki led me to her car, where her two West Highland terriers, Pepper and Coco, were waiting for us.
    Glancing up into the cloudless sky, I thanked my lucky stars for this new friend. I didn’t know what I would have done without her.

C HAPTER 11

    The next morning, Pepper and Coco greeted me by jumping up on the bed, an amazing feat, considering their small sizes. The Westies lavished me with attention in the form of wet kisses and moist, cold nose rubs. One of them rolled over for a belly rub. “You must be Pepper,” I said, spotting a telltale black marking.
    Outside the window, the sky was steel gray and rain streaked the glass. Vicki had given me a nightgown at least three times too large and then had ceremoniously thrown my odorous, sooty T-shirt in the outdoor trash.
    What day of the week was it anyway? It took a moment to remember that it was Saturday.
    “I’ve got porridge cooking on the stove,” Vicki said when I made an appearance in the kitchen. She looked much fresher than I felt. “And I put the kettle on when I heard you stirring. You sure slept a long time, but I expect you needed it.”
    She placed two individual pots of tea next to place settings, then sunk down in one of the chairs. “The tea has been steeping long enough. Go on, sit.”
    I sat down and looked around the kitchen. It was large, a combination kitchen and dining room, with a built-in washer and dryer.
    I imitated my hostess by pouring a cup of tea and adding a dash of milk from a small pitcher. After taking a sip, I judged it to be the way I’d drink tea from now on. Delicious.
    “How do you make your tea?” I asked her. “It’s wonderful.”
    Vicki beamed. “Nothing to it really. Just steep one bag of tea for each cup, then add one for the pot. And don’t forget to cradle the pot in a nice tea cozy.”
    She made it sound so simple.
    After a few minutes, she rose and transferred a bowl of dark fruit from the counter to the table.
    Vicki confirmed my suspicion. “Prunes. They’re good for you.”
    Had I ever eaten prunes before? Not that I recalled. But after tasting them, I decided I liked prunes.
    Next, she scooped up porridge from a pot on the stove, filled two bowls, and came back to the table.
    “I have news,” she told me, placing one of the bowls in front of me. “Some good. Some not so good.”
    “Great,” I said with a dab of sarcasm.
    “Which would you prefer to hear first? The good? Or the not so good?”
    “The good news,” I decided, digging into the bowl of oatmeal.
    “Well, first is that that nice Officer Stevens fetched your car and dropped it off this morning with the help of another bloke. The keys are in the vase next to the door.”
    I wasn’t sure that was good news.
    “
And
the Whistling Inn didn’t burn beyond repair,” Vicki said. “But your wing suffered smoke damage, and apparently the fire was set off in your room. No question about it. How do you suppose that happened?”
    “I have no idea,” I said stiffly. “I hope you’re not implying that I set it intentionally.”
    “Nothing of