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stop by Liz, as the authors greeted her warmly. I prayed she would behave herself. She said, “I hope I haven’t missed the introductions.”
    Dr. Ray stepped forward and offered his hand, quickly introducing not only himself, but the others. I guess he’d known Calabria long enough to know he wouldn’t repeat himself. Heck, even I’d known Calabria long enough to figure that out.
    Grandma smiled at Dr. Ray. “I’ve read all your books.”
    “And enjoyed them, I hope.”
    “Oh, yes.” Before I knew it, Grandma flapped a few feathers and was situated beside the good doctor.
    Oh my gosh, Grandma was on the make. Right here. Right now. Right in front of me. But, after all, Dr. Ray wasn’t quite young enough for a boy toy, Garrett was too grouchy, and Calabria was taken; so how much damage could Grandma do?
    “My late husband, George, rest his soul, loved this mansion.” And, just like that, she informed the good doctor she was available. I guess he was young enough for her.
    Bonnie asked me, “So what kind of books do you like to read?”
    “At the Who-Dun-Him Inn, do you even have to ask?”
    “Murder mysteries.” BJ shrugged. “Of course.”
    “She fills entire bookshelves with mysteries,” Grandma said.
    Calabria shot me a megawatt smile. “I have just the person you are looking for. A famous mystery writer, Clark Harmon.”
    “Clark Harmon? You’re kidding! He’s my favorite.”
    “Oh, sure, your favorite,” Bonnie teased. “Seriously, though, ask him to autograph your books.”
    “By tomorrow, I’ll have books for all of you to autograph.”
    Even Garrett smiled. “You’ve discovered our Achilles’ heel. An author will do anything for a fan asking for autographs.”
    Calabria waved his hand impatiently. “The tour, please.”
    “All right,” I said as I went into official Tour Guide mode. “We are currently standing in what was originally the Mayor’s Parlor, now transformed into the 1891 study of Sherlock Holmes, and where each evening, we host a game of Clue and serve our specialty, Murderously Good Chocolate Chip Cookies. They’re to die for, of course.”
    BJ said, “They sound delicious.”
    Calabria smiled at her fondly.
    I repeated what I told Martha about my great-great-great-grandfather originally building the mansion.
    “He must have been filthy rich,” BJ blurted.
    “He made a great deal of money in mining,” I explained.
    “And whiskey,” Grandma added. “Those mining townfolk drank a lot of whiskey.”
    “Whiskey?” Bonnie laughed. “Here? In Utah?”
    “Oh, yes,” Grandma elaborated. “Mormons are industrious.”
    The authors laughed appreciatively and I said, “William had a large family to provide for.”
    “I bet that’s an understatement,” Bonnie teased. “This is Utah, after all. How many wives did you say he had?”
    “Well, actually, only three.” Again, I left the fourth wife out. She took too long to explain.
    “My dear,” Bonnie took my arm, “We absolutely must talk. This would make a wonderful story.”
    “It’s a love story,” Grandma explained. She’d told this story to hundreds of guests when she and Grandpa ran the bed-and-breakfast. “…Between William and his first wife, Marissa. On the day they married, he promised to build her the fanciest home in the valley. Years later, he kept that promise. He was mayor of Silver City for years, and they held many official meetings in this parlor.”
    Bonnie laughed. “Did the mansion have a delightfully scandalous name? Polygamy Parlor? Too Many Wives? The More The Merrier?”
    “Plain ol’ Ross Mansion. Fifty years ago, my grandparents turned it into a bed-and-breakfast. Now it’s the Who-Dun-Him Inn.”
    “Such a wonderful name,” Dr. Ray said.
    Grandma murmured her agreement.
    Calabria asked Grandma, “Did your husband have more than one wife?” I looked at him in surprise, then realized from his smile that Calabria was teasing Grandma.
    Grandma laughed. “Oh, gracious, no.