by Sarah Fox
I tried not to look as taken aback as I felt. How could he have been so confident that I’d want him here in Shady Creek?
Eric was a smart guy in many ways, but clearly not in others.
A door closed somewhere deep in the house. Cordelia glanced at the still-deserted stairway before continuing. “He didn’t look too happy later that day, though he didn’t say why. But I heard through the grapevine that things most definitely didn’t go well at the brewery.”
“How do you mean?”
“Apparently Mr. Blake had your Mr. Jensen escorted from the property.” She leaned over the desk toward me. “According to my friend Annalisa—she’s a receptionist at the brewery—Mr. Blake absolutely tore into Mr. Jensen. Annalisa had never seen Mr. Blake get angry like that. Not even close. He’s usually as cool as a cucumber. But not that day.”
My curiosity was most definitely piqued now. “Any idea why he got so mad at Eric?”
She frowned in disappointment. “Unfortunately, no. Annalisa didn’t hear any specific words, just the raised voices.”
I shared in her disappointment. I had no idea what Eric might have done to get Grayson mad at him, but it was most definitely an interesting tidbit of information. How mad did Grayson get, exactly? Mad enough to kill?
We’d found Eric at the edge of the brewery property. Had he returned there that evening, his audacity driving Grayson into a murderous rage?
Wasn’t the person who found the victim of a homicide often a suspect? I’d met up with Grayson while he was coming down his driveway with his dog. Even if Bowie hadn’t raised the alarm, was it Grayson’s intention to “accidentally” find Eric’s body?
It was definitely something to consider.
“Do you know if the ring’s been recovered?” I asked. “If it’s missing, that could mean Eric was killed during a robbery.”
“I told the police about it when they were here yesterday. They went through all of his belongings but didn’t find it. Maybe he took it with him to the brewery, thinking he’d see you before he came back to the inn. But when I told the police about the ring, I got the distinct impression that they didn’t know anything about it. That must mean they didn’t find anything of the sort on his body, right?”
“That sounds like a safe assumption.”
But would Grayson have stolen the ring if he’d killed Eric out of anger?
Maybe, particularly if he’d hoped to throw the police off his scent so they’d look for a violent robber rather than someone with an entirely different motive.
“Did you want to see his belongings?”
The offer took me by surprise, and I found myself torn between wanting to look for clues and not wanting to deal with the emotions that handling Eric’s things might bring to the surface.
“The police are done with them, so my gran wants me to pack them up and put his suitcase in the storage closet until someone from his family picks it up or asks us to ship it to them. Being that it’s leaf-peeper season, that room is solidly booked, starting tomorrow.”
“How did he manage to get a room here at such a busy time?” I asked, putting off my answer to Cordelia’s question for the moment.
“Pure luck, really. Good luck for him, and bad luck for someone else. The couple who had that room booked for three nights couldn’t make it in the end. The woman ended up with appendicitis and had to have surgery. So their vacation went out the window.”
I wasn’t so sure that it was good luck for Eric, considering how things turned out. Maybe it would have been better for him if he hadn’t found a place to stay in town. Maybe then he would have been elsewhere and wouldn’t have ended up dead.
“I can help you pack up Eric’s things,” I offered, still not sure if that was something I really wanted to do.
I thought Cordelia might fall over with relief. “Would you? That would be so nice of you. To be honest, I’ve been a bit creeped out by the idea of touching a dead man’s things. Having company would make it so much easier.”
I glanced at the porcelain mantel clock on the shelf behind the reception desk. “I need to get back to the pub soon, but I’m guessing Eric didn’t bring too much with him.”
Unless he was so confident that I’d want him in Shady Creek that he’d moved his entire life here.
“Just one suitcase,” Cordelia said. “Should we tackle it right now?”
“Please.”
She stepped out from behind the desk and headed for the staircase so quickly that her crinkly hair fluffed out behind her on her self-made breeze. “This way.”
I rushed to follow her up the stairs, my hand on the smooth, polished banister. Despite our swift pace, I managed to take in the sight of the beautiful stained-glass window above the front door, the crown molding, and the glass knobs on every door, all of which added to the inn’s charm and character.
On the second floor, Cordelia led me down a hall with closed doors on either side and then up a second, narrower staircase to two doors on the third floor.
“This is it.” She opened the door on the left and allowed me to precede her through it.
The room had a sloped ceiling and was on the small side, but the white paint and a large window made it seem cheery and cozy rather than cramped. The queen bed hadn’t been slept in, but an open suitcase sat on the floor, its contents in a jumble. A couple of wrinkled shirts lay haphazardly on the blue-and-white area rug in the middle of the room, and the drawers of the small dresser had all been left open to some degree. The top drawer was empty, but I couldn’t see into the lower two.
“The police didn’t do the best job of tidying up after themselves,” I said while taking in the sight of the mess.
“Oh no. It wasn’t the police who left it like this. This was how it looked when I let the officers in.”
That was odd. While not exactly a neat freak, Eric had always been a fairly tidy person. In more than two years of living with him, I’d never known him to leave a room in this sort of state.
Cordelia seemed to be waiting for me to make the first move, so I stepped farther into the room.
“It should only take a minute or so to pack this up.” I picked up one of the shirts and folded it. Instead of starting in on another shirt, I set the folded one on the end of the bed and wandered toward a closed door at the end of the room. “Is this a washroom?”
“It is. A small one, but with all the necessities.”
I stepped inside the tiny blue-and-white room. A small black shaving kit sat on the vanity, its zipper open, a toothbrush and small tube of toothpaste lying next to it. Nothing else of Eric’s seemed to be present. I slipped the toothbrush and toothpaste into the black case and zipped it up. Retreating from the washroom, I tucked the shaving kit into the suitcase and got back to folding shirts.
It felt strange to be handling the clothes of the man I’d broken up with months ago, especially knowing that he was now dead. I tried not to think about it too much, instead quickly folding each item and placing it into the suitcase. I kept my eyes open for anything unusual, but only came across the typical items one would pack for a few days away from home. I didn’t know what else I might have expected to find. If Eric had died at the hands of a robber, no clues as to the killer’s identity would be here at the Creekside Inn.
“Did you know him a long time?” Cordelia asked from the post she’d taken up by the window, her gaze straying back and forth between the view and the suitcase.
“Nearly four years.” I folded the last item and set it on top of the rest of the clothes in the suitcase. “We met in Knoxville. We’d been dating about a year and a half when Eric got a job in Boston, and I ended up moving there with him.”
“Where’s his family?”
“His parents live in Philadelphia, where he grew up. His sister’s living in DC.” I closed the suitcase and zipped it up. “I think that does it.” I checked the nightstand and dresser drawers to be sure I hadn’t missed anything, but it didn’t appear that I had.
“Thanks so much,” Cordelia said, grabbing hold of the suitcase. “I’ll put this away in the storage closet for safekeeping.”
She led the way back down to the second floor, with me helping her maneuver Eric’s suitcase down the narrow staircase. Halfway along the corridor, she opened a door to a walk-in cupboard, tucking the suitcase away just inside the door.
“I’m guessing that guy who’s in town isn’t related to your ex in any way.”
“Sorry?” I said, confused.
“A man came by yesterday, asking if Mr. Jensen was staying here. Maybe I shouldn’t have answered the question, since I didn’t know who he was, but I said yes. It just popped out, like most things do from my mouth. That was shortly before the police showed up and told us Mr. Jensen was dead.”
Unease crept across my shoulders. “Why did the man want to know if Eric was staying here?”
“I didn’t get a chance to ask. The phone rang, and I answered it. He took off before I hung up.”
“What did this guy look like?”
“Imposing. Even a bit scary. Muscular, and his eyes were a little too close together. He had a Boston accent.”
The tension in my shoulders increased. “And you have no idea why he wanted to know where Eric was staying?”
“No, none. Do you know the guy?”
“No, but I know who you mean.”
As we headed down the staircase, the inn’s front door opened, and a middle-aged couple came inside. Cordelia greeted them cheerily and hurried to the reception desk to assist them. I called out a quick thank-you and waved to her, letting myself out of the inn. On the front porch, I paused and shivered, though not from the cool air.
The man Cordelia had described had to be the same one who’d been at the Inkwell the day before. Whoever he was, he had an agenda of some sort. I didn’t know what that agenda was, but I felt certain that it wasn’t a good one.
Chapter 9
Back at the Inkwell, more tourists had arrived, and the pub was buzzing. I jumped in to help Mel and didn’t have much time to think things over until a couple of hours later when most of the leaf peepers had gone to catch their tour buses. That left a handful of other tourists who were likely staying in Shady Creek for more than a day and a few locals who’d stopped by for an afternoon pint and a chat with their neighbors.
I filled a pint glass with the Spirit Hill Brewery’s popular Sweet Adeline—a beer made from sweet potatoes—and set it on a tray along with a glass of the Malt in Our Stars and a Happily Ever After cocktail. I carried the tray of drinks across the pub to a table where Rhonda and Harvey sat chatting with Alma Potts.
“Is it true your ex was killed during a robbery?” Rhonda asked as I set the glass of the Malt in Our Stars in front of her.
“I don’t know if anyone knows if that’s true or not, but it seems to be a possibility.”
“I heard something about a missing ring when I was at Pilates this morning,” Alma said before taking a sip of her Happily Ever After cocktail.
“Was the ring meant for you, Sadie?” Harvey asked.
I tucked the empty tray under my arm. “That’s the story I heard, but I never saw Eric, and I never saw any ring. But if he did have a ring, it sounds like it’s missing now.”
“It probably was a robbery gone wrong then.” Harvey took a long sip of his beer.
Alma leaned forward and spoke in a hushed voice. “You don’t suppose Carl Miller . . .” She shook her head. “No, of course not.”
“What about Carl?” Harvey asked.
“You were going to ask if he could be the killer, right?” Rhonda guessed.
“Carl Miller, the guy who always wears that red baseball cap?” I asked.
“That’s him,” Harvey confirmed before taking another drink.
I stepped closer to the table and kept my voice low. “Why would you think he might have something to do with Eric’s death?”
“He’s known for having sticky fingers,” Rhonda whispered. “He’s been to jail a couple of times for stealing.”
“And there was that kerfuffle,” Alma added.
“What kerfuffle?” the rest of us asked at the same time.
“The one right here at the pub. You know, Sadie, the same night your ex died.”
“Oh, right,” I said. “Carl was arguing with Eric.”
“That doesn’t mean Carl killed the guy,” Harvey said.
“Doesn’t mean he didn’t,” Alma countered.
Harvey shook his head. “We shouldn’t be spreading rumors.”
“No, I suppose you’re right,” Alma said, though she looked disappointed.
Harvey turned the conversation in a new direction, and I excused myself, returning to the bar with the empty tray. I surveyed the pub, but none of the patrons appeared to be in need of immediate assistance. I drummed my fingers against the bar, trying to rein in all of the thoughts that were swirling around in my head.
Eric had brought a ring to Shady Creek, one he’d intended for me. A known thief had argued with Eric within twelve hours of his death, and now the ring was missing and Eric was dead. I needed to find out if there was a connection. It certainly seemed like there could be.
I was also curious about the incident at the brewery that Cordelia had told me about. Grayson had kicked Eric off his property. I wanted to know what had made Grayson so angry and if he could be the killer.
And then there was the beady-eyed mystery man. Where did he fit in all of this?
I wanted to find answers to my questions, but there was something more pressing I needed to do, something I should have done already, though I hadn’t been in the right frame of mind before. The pub had quieted down, but I knew it would get busier again soon, so I needed to take my chance and do what needed to be done.
After letting Mel know that I’d be up in my apartment for a while, I left her to take care of the patrons, went upstairs, and settled on my couch with my phone in hand.
“This isn’t going to be easy,” I said to Wimsey as he hopped up onto the couch next to me.
He sat down and licked his paw before rubbing it against his face.
“I know. It’s best to get on with it.”
Wimsey spared me the briefest of glances before returning to his grooming.
I stared at the device in my hand, but I knew this call wouldn’t get any easier to make as time passed. Scrolling through my contacts, I found Natalie’s name and put a call through to her number.
* * *
Half an hour after heading upstairs to my apartment, I still hadn’t returned to the pub. I’d only spoken to Natalie for about ten minutes or so, and to her parents for five minutes after that, but I needed time to press a cold, damp cloth over my eyes to get rid of the swelling and redness. As soon as Natalie had started crying, I hadn’t been able to hold back my own tears. And then Mrs. Jensen had broken down when I called her, setting me off again.
At least Eric’s family didn’t suspect me of having anything to do with his death. They were desperate for answers that I didn’t have, but they didn’t in any way blame me for the loss of their son and brother. That was a relief, but hearing the grief in their voices had been tough, and I hoped they’d get the answers they needed before too long.
I was still lying there on the couch, the damp cloth over my eyes, when I heard footsteps on the stairway beyond my apartment door. Leaving the cloth in the kitchen sink, I reached the door just as somebody knocked on it. I hoped it was either Shontelle or Aunt Gilda on the other side of the door, because those were the only two people I felt up to seeing at the moment.
“I brought dinner,” Shontelle announced as soon as I opened the door. She held up a paper bag that had a delicious smell wafting from it.
My stomach gave a loud rumble, and I realized then that I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. “I’m not sure if I have time to eat,” I said, although I stepped back to let her into the apartment.
She waved off my concern. “I talked to Mel before coming
up here. She says she’s fine on her own for a while longer. And I can’t stay too long myself. Kiandra’s at her dance lesson, and I have to pick her up at six.”
“Want something to drink?” I asked as I headed for the fridge.
“Just water for me, thanks.” She paused by the couch to give Wimsey a pat. He closed his eyes happily, purring away. “So, you’re still hanging in there?”
“Yes,” I said as I filled two glasses with ice and water. “Although I’m more confused than ever.”
Shontelle unloaded the bag of food onto the kitchen table as I carried over plates and the drinks. The smell of fish tacos grew stronger, and my stomach growled again.
“Get some food into you, and then tell me what’s on your mind.”
I did as she suggested, and once I’d taken a few delicious bites of my taco, I told her about all the rumors I’d heard that day.
“I talked to Eric’s family a little while ago,” I said once I’d finished telling her about Carl Miller. “His sister said Eric had recently confided in her that he was being hounded by a couple of thugs.”
Shontelle’s eyes widened. “Why? Something to do with his gambling?”
“Apparently. He owed money to a loan shark and couldn’t pay it back.” I shook my head. “He got himself into such a mess. And now I’m wondering if that’s what got him killed.”
“But he died here in Shady Creek.”
“I know, but I think his troubles might have followed him here.”
I told her about the beady-eyed man who’d asked after Eric both at the pub and at the Creekside Inn. “He has a Boston accent, and I thought he looked vaguely familiar. When I was talking to Natalie, I remembered that I’d seen a couple of guys hassling Eric about six months ago. He brushed it off at the time, and I forgot all about it until today. I’m pretty sure the guy who was in the Inkwell yesterday was one of them.”
“And you think he’s a thug for the loan shark?”
“I think that’s a good possibility.”
“That’s something the police should know.”
