Early Check Out

by Diane Capri

  I smiled and said, “You could email this to her. It would be so much faster and a lot easier.”

  He grunted, which told me he was not happy. I started noticing this little tell about him from the first day I met him at the Parks’ weekly family dinner. Everyone at the table had been beyond surprised by his arrival. Me included. Especially when he said I was the reason his retirement had been cut short and he’d been forced to return to the Park. Like the Park was some sort of hell. Like he didn’t miss being the boss here every minute of every day. And the worst thing, like it was my fault that I’d found that dead man on the premises.

  The murder at the hotel had been all over the local news, and even down in Florida where Samuel usually lived, he’d heard about it. I suspected he had more than one little spy in town, and for the squealer, my money was on none other than Casey Cushing.

  My name had come up several times in the news stories and not necessarily in a most flattering way. I still didn’t understand why the local reporter, Tanya Walsh, insinuated that it was my fault the case was bungled early on. I wasn’t the law, after all. I was just the concierge at the hotel. Or at least, I was trying to be.

  Samuel snapped, “I don’t like using the internet. You never know who’s reading your personal correspondence.”

  I refrained from telling him I was certain no government agency was interested in how many carnations or tulips the Park Hotel ordered every month.

  “And what if the email doesn’t get there? Then we wouldn’t have the right flowers in the lobby or in the suites. That would be unacceptable. This way, if the orders get screwed up, I know exactly who to blame.” He gave me one of his famous grandfatherly grins. They worked on his grandchildren and other members of staff, but not on me. I saw right through him. He was as mean as a snake.

  “I’ll drop this off with June, no problem,” I finally relented with a big old toothy grin of my own. Besides, I had Miss Charlotte’s letter to mail, anyway.

  “That’s a good girl.” He patted my shoulder like I was a golden retriever or something. “Oh, and since you’re going, grab all the mail from the office and take it to the post office as well. It’s barely a block past June’s place.” He then strode away in the opposite direction. He may have had a little extra pep in his step, too. I resisted the urge to stick my tongue out at his retreating back.

  Chapter 3

  Since I was now on hotel business and had a plethora of letters and parcels to take to the post office, I decided to pilfer one of the golf carts from the clubhouse—they frowned upon that, but I was feeling wild and crazy, I guess—and drive it down the hill to the village.

  Daisy’s Pet Hotel was situated right at the bottom of the hill and would’ve been as far as I needed to go, so I had to adjust my route. It would take me a bit longer to get back to the kennels, but it would all be worth it in the end when I could sit with Scout and Jem and pet their furry little heads. They always made me feel better, calmer, more relaxed. And relaxing wasn’t something I’d done in more days than I cared to count.

  Partly, I was uneasy about this business of moving to Hong Kong. On the one hand, my parents were right. There was nothing holding me here now. I’d been suspended from my job at the law firm, and I wasn’t really wanted or needed here at the Park. Well, not everyone here felt that way. But Samuel certainly did, and he made no secret of it. But I wasn’t married, no kids, no home really. There was nothing at all tying me down.

  Which wasn’t the issue. When my parents moved to Hong Kong, they’d left me behind. At first, I’d been defiant about it, of course. What fifteen-year-old wouldn’t be? There we were, living happily in the suburbs in a nice house with nice schools and nice friends. Then one day, just like that, Dad comes home and says we’re moving to Hong Kong. Hong Kong! Seriously? Leave my school, my friends, my boyfriend, everything I knew and loved in the word to move to Hong Kong? After days and weeks of arguments, pleading, tears, and a lot of foot stomping, they’d moved without me. Left me and Miss Charlotte behind. On our own. After a few months of shocked disbelief, we’d been just fine, thank you very much.

  I’d graduated from high school, moved on to college, met Ginny, and her family became mine. After that, law school and a great job in California. Everything was going along well. Really well. I’d thought. Until my boss stole millions from our clients, and I got suspended.

  But none of what had happened ever made me want to move to Hong Kong. Not now. Not ever. My parents would simply need to get used to it.

  I drove down the road from the hotel onto Main Street, which ran along the water, both sides of the street crammed with quaint shops selling boutique items and touristy treasures. Beyond them lay the fishing docks and ferry piers. I turned onto Rose Lane just past Daisy’s kennels and went up Market Street.

  I passed the hospital, a couple of historic houses built in the 1800s, the sheriff’s office—I resisted childishly sticking my tongue out in that general direction—town hall, and the court offices, and then parked in front of the post office, which was an old stone building that had seen better days.

  I took all the mail and parcels inside to the man who worked the counter. Jerry was his name. As we went through everything, he chatted nonstop about the weather and the upcoming Flower Festival. He loved all the festivities, especially the pie-eating contest, which he had been preparing for all winter and spring by eating a ton of pies. The prize this year was the same as every year. Two hundred dollars and a year’s supply of pie from Patty’s Homestyle Pies and Cakes.

  After we were done sorting through everything and the parcels were signed for, I posted my letter to Miss Charlotte in Texas, then returned to the cart. I turned around to go back to June’s Blooms, which just happened to be across the street from town hall and the sheriff’s office. I really hoped I didn’t run into Sheriff Jackson today. I’d only seen him once since the wrap-up of the murder, and even then, I barely got a “hello, how do you do?” out of him.

  Maybe because I had tried to tell him how to do his job during the investigation. It was quite possible that I had been a bit too bossy and superior about it all at the time. But I just didn’t understand why he was reluctant to take advantage of my expertise, especially after I informed him that I had studied criminal law and knew something about crime scenes and such.

  In the end, I guess I showed him what my brain can do. Could be that worried him most of all—me getting under his feet all the time. He certainly seemed to be avoiding me. Which was fine by me. Samuel kept me on my toes enough as it was. I didn’t need Sheriff Jackson added to the tension.

  I went inside the flower shop as the tiny tinkling bell atop the door announced my arrival. The two little parakeets in the cage near the door chimed in.

  “Customer!” the blue one squawked.

  June came out of the back room, her cat-eye glasses perched on top of her head. The frames were pink and nearly disappeared among the red strands of her hair.

  “Andi. How nice to see you.” She beamed at me, and it made me smile in return. Every time I’d seen her, she was glowing with joy and light.

  “Hi, June.” I set the envelope down on the counter. “I’m here to drop off the flower orders for next month.”

  She picked up the envelope and opened it, sliding the papers out. “I don’t know how many times I’ve told Mr. Park to just email the orders. Easier for me to fill them and to keep track of everything that way. Gotta be easier for the Park, too.”

  “Yeah, well, I tried telling him that…”

  She chuckled. “He is set in his ways.”

  “That he is.”

  “Did you come down just to deliver this?”

  I shook my head. “I’m headed to check up on my cats over at Daisy’s.”

  “Oh, could you do me a favor since you’re going?”

  “Sure.”

  She ducked into the back and returned with a bag full of dandelions. “For Daisy’s guinea pigs. A special treat.”

&n
bsp; I grabbed the large bag and grinned. “Happy to do it. See you later, June.”

  I opened the door and walked out onto the street. The sun was low in the sky, and it nearly blinded me. Putting my hand up to block the glare, I nearly ran right into Sheriff Jackson. He stumbled backward to avoid my elbows, which were raised to carry the big bag of weeds. He succeeded, but his coffee wasn’t as lucky. It ended up all over his form-fitting jeans. My stomach dropped, and I pressed my lips together, grimacing.

  “I’m so sorry, Sheriff.”

  He sighed, as he often did around me, and shook his head. “No, it was my fault. I saw the hotel golf cart out front and should’ve anticipated running into you at some point.”

  The way he said it sounded like I was some kind of natural disaster. Like the golf cart was an early warning signal for Hurricane Andi.

  “Um, okay, not sure what that means, but…”

  “It means I accept your apology. Okay? Simple. Nothing sinister.”

  “Fine.” I nodded to him, then dropped my bag of dandelions onto the seat of the cart and jumped behind the wheel.

  He took off his hat, ran a hand through his hair, and shook his head at me again. I’d always thought he’d look more at home on a Texas ranch than on an island in the middle of Lake Michigan. He had a certain cowboy-like swagger about him. Then he plunked his hat on and strode toward the coffee shop to get himself another coffee.

  I did a U-turn in the middle of the street, not caring if the sheriff was watching, and raced down Market Street to Daisy’s kennels. I probably looked like a total idiot trying to peel out in my little cart and flaunt the law in front of the sheriff. I imagined him having a little chuckle at my expense.

  I parked in front of Daisy’s place and went inside, instantly greeted by the business’s mascot, a ginormous dog with a boxy head named Rufus. He was a Great Dane/pit bull mix, and he was the sweetest dog I’d ever come across. I scratched him behind his ears and cooed to him. I loved dogs, almost as much as I loved cats, and Rufus brought out the canine maternal instinct in me.

  “Who’s a good boy?”

  He gave a soft woof in answer to my question.

  Daisy came out from the back kennels. The symphony of canine and feline greetings followed in her wake.

  “Hi, Daisy. I came to see my babies.” I put the sack of dandelions on the counter. “June sends her regards.”

  With eager eyes and hands, Daisy grabbed the bag of weeds. “Oh, Petunia and Lance are going to be fine-dining for weeks on this.”

  I followed her into the back, to where the official deluxe rooms of the pet hotel were. No actual kennel for my loves, for sure. Scout and Jem had a nice suite, with a big scratching post, several shelves on the walls to lounge on, an old chair they could scratch the stuffing out of, and a series of tunnels and bridges up high along the ceiling. It was like the presidential palace for cats.

  I went inside and was instantly greeted with meows. I sat on the floor and fed them special treats and petted them until my hands were sore. We’d never spent much time away from each other, and I missed them like crazy. But I knew they were being very well cared for. Truth was, I worried that they’d come to love Daisy more than they loved me.

  I picked up Scout and whispered in her ear, “It won’t be long, I promise. Another couple of months, and we’ll be going back home. I’ll be a lawyer again, and you’ll be happy Cali kitties again.”

  After another half hour, I kissed them both goodbye and wandered out front, where Daisy was busy scowling over some papers.

  “Thanks, Daisy,” I said. “They seem really happy.”

  She looked up and smiled. “Oh, they’re great cats. They totally miss you, though—don’t fret about that. Pets always miss their owners.” Then she went back to scowling at the paper on her desk. The scowl was so odd on her usually sunny face.

  “What’s that? Looks like it’s giving you some problems.”

  “Lease agreement. I think my landlord is totally screwing me, but I can’t quite figure out how.”

  “Want me to take a look? I did a lot of contract law coming up at the law firm I worked for back in California.”

  She puffed out her cheeks. “Oh, would you? You’re an angel.” She rolled up the contract and handed it to me. “Oh, and while you’re being an angel, do you think you could help me take some birdseed to a client of mine? It’s a pain carrying it up on my bike, and seeing as you got the cart and all…” She pointed out the window and gave me a very toothy smile.

  Who could resist that?

  “Sure, why not? I’m on a favor roll right now.”

  “Awesome!”

  Mrs. Walker, Daisy’s client, was eighty years old and didn’t get around that well. So, Daisy brought big bags of seed to Mrs. Walker’s house and fed the birds for her. I didn’t mind helping. Daisy was one of those people you instinctively wanted to help if you had any kind of heart.

  I parked the cart in front of the two-story red-brick house. It looked like it was built in the 1920s with the front veranda and a tiny little patio off the second-floor bedroom. We went around the back through the kitchen, which Daisy told me was always unlocked. Which wasn’t odd at all. Not many people locked their doors in the village.

  We walked in, and I noticed there were some groceries in brown paper bags on the kitchen counter. I peered inside to make sure there wasn’t anything thawing inside—maybe Mrs. Walker had forgotten about them.

  “She gets the groceries delivered to her once a week as well. Looks like the boy forgot to put them away.” She started to take out what was inside the bags. “I’ll just do this quickly. Why don’t you go into the living room and feed the two birds in the cage there.” She handed me some seed.

  When I gave her a look, she laughed. “It’s easy. Just put it into the little metal bowl hanging from the middle of the cage. Lucy and Desi won’t bite. There’re good little dudes.”

  Taking the seed, I walked out of the kitchen and into the small living room. The birdcage was near the front window. The two tiny birds inside chirped happily as I neared. I reached inside to fill the bowl, and one of them nipped at my finger.

  “Ouch.” I scowled at it. “That hurt.” I inspected my finger, saw a small bead of blood. “Wow, my day off isn’t going so well, is it?”

  And that’s when I spied the staircase that led to the second level near the front door. Sunlight streamed in through the stained-glass windows in the sidelights, cascading red and yellow light onto the floor.

  Illuminating Mrs. Walker’s twisted body at the bottom of the stairs.

  Chapter 4

  Why me? That was the question that kept scrolling through my mind as I rubbed a hand up and down Daisy’s back, trying to calm her as we waited for an ambulance and the sheriff to arrive. Two bodies in two months. Must have been some kind of record for a concierge who didn’t work directly in law enforcement. It wasn’t really a record I wanted.

  Once I’d seen Mrs. Walker’s body, I had checked for a pulse—my hands shaking the whole time, even though I was going for an aura of calm—and found none. Then I went back into the kitchen to tell Daisy. At first she just blinked at me, likely trying to compute what I’d just told her, and then she walked into the living room to see for herself.

  I’d seen people in shock before, and that was exactly what she was experiencing. After she saw the body, her eyes went wide and her mouth went slack, so I escorted her back to the kitchen, sat her down, and proceeded to make the necessary calls. I told both the 9-1-1 operator and Deputy Shawn to come through the back door, since Mrs. Walker was sort of blocking the front door.

  “Are you sure she’s dead?” Daisy asked me for the third time.

  “Yes. I’m sorry.”

  Daisy wiped at her mouth and then took another sip of the water I’d retrieved for her. “I can’t believe it. I mean, she’s in her eighties…was in her eighties,” she corrected, “so I knew eventually she’d pass on, but falling down the stairs? That’s a cr
appy way to die.”

  I nodded in agreement. It was a horrible way to go.

  While we waited, I examined the kitchen, taking mental notes of different things. The bright, tiny room was neat and tidy besides the grocery bag, which was now empty because Daisy had put away the contents.

  I wondered if Mrs. Walker had someone come in to clean. She must have. I couldn’t picture her puttering around, scrubbing the counters and sink. The room almost looked unused. I took in the flowered wallpaper and slightly discolored linoleum floor, which seemed so typical of old houses like this. Then my gaze flittered over the square flap in the bottom of the back door.

  “Where’s the dog?” I asked.

  “What?”

  “There’s a doggy door. Where’s her dog?”

  Daisy sagged lower in her seat. “So sad. Little Lulu went missing about a week ago.”

  “That’s awful. What kind of dog?”

  “Pekinese. A cute thing, but so yappy. Lulu barked constantly.”

  Before I could ask anything more, the back door into the kitchen opened and Sheriff Jackson walked in, followed by the tall, pixie-haired doctor from the hospital, Dr. Neumann. The last time I’d seen her was over the outstretched legs of a screaming young woman having a baby.

  I looked the sheriff over and noticed he’d changed his pants from our earlier caffeine collision. I wondered if he had a whole slew of jeans folded away somewhere in his office. I also wondered if he ever wore anything else.

  “This is Dr. Neumann. This is Andi Steele.”

  The doctor nodded sharply.

  “We’ve met,” I said.

  Sheriff Jackson gave me a look, but I said nothing more.

  “Right.” He nodded. “Where’s Mrs. Walker?”

  I led them through the living room to the front foyer where the body was. This time, I noticed her cane lying on the step above her. I hadn’t noticed it before. It’s amazing the little things you focus on in times of tragedy. Like the repetitive ticking of the cuckoo clock on the foyer wall, the continual chirping of the birds in the cage nearby, or the way the yellow light through the front door sidelight played across Mrs. Walker’s pale, wrinkled hand. I shuddered, wanting to wrap myself in my arms.