0519331001428587579 murder at the inn

by Marraii. com

  Anna looked around and felt hopeless. The police had people in lines and were talking to them. For a moment, she felt hopeless and uncertain but she knew she had to do something, otherwise, no one would ever trust her with an event again.

  The full book of "Murder in Bermuda" can be yours right now. Click here to find out more.

  About The Author

  For many, the thought of childhood conjures images of hopscotch games in quiet

  neighbourhoods, and sticky visits to the local sweet shop. For Penelope Sotheby, childhood meant bathing in Bermuda, jiving in Jamaica and exploring a string of strange and exotic British territories with her nomadic family. New friends would come and go, but her constant companion was an old, battered collection of Agatha Christie novels that filled her hours with intrigue and wonder.

  Penelope would go on to read every single one of Christie’s sixty-six novels—multiple times—and so was born a love of suspense than can be found in Sotheby’s own works today.

  In 2011 the author debuted with “Murder at the Inn” , a whodunit novella set on Graham Island off the West Coast of Canada. After receiving positive acclaim, Sotheby went on to write the series “Murder in Paradise” ; five novels following the antics of a wedding planner navigating nuptials (and crime scenes) in the tropical locations of Sotheby’s formative years.

  An avid gardener, proud mother, and passionate host of Murder Mystery weekends, Sotheby can often be found at her large oak table, gleefully plotting the demise of her friends, tricky twists and grand reveals.

  Fantastic Fiction

  Fantastic Fiction publishes short reads that feature stories in a series of five or more books.

  Specializing in genres such as Mystery, Thriller, Fantasy and Sci Fi, our novels are exciting and put our readers at the edge of their seats.

  Each of our novellas range around 20,000 words each and are perfect for short afternoon reads. Most of the stories published through Fantastic Fiction are escapist fiction and allow readers to indulge in their imagination through well written, powerful and descriptive stories.

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  At Fantastic Fiction, we believe that life doesn’t get much better than kicking back and reading a gripping piece of fiction. We are passionate about supporting independent writers and believe that the world should have access to this incredible works of fiction. Through our store we provide a diverse range of fiction that is sure to satisfy.

  Chapter 5 - Secrets are Surfacing

  "Fingerprints, blood, bleach, hair, tissue, anything that ties one of these drivers to the crime or the victim. You know the routine." Wilson saluted the CSI team and said, "Thanks again, guys," and left all but one of them in the storage unit at the golf course.

  On the way to the house, Wilson briefed the CSI officer. "Three of the four who were here this morning are still here. I'll need fingerprints from all of them for comparison and elimination, and maybe, in one case, incrimination.”

  "Piece of cake."

  "Don't wait for the others. Go ahead and catch the next ferry back and get those prints in the evidence room."

  "Will do, Inspector."

  Back at the main house, Sergeant Montgomery met them at the door. "You were right, Sir.

  Craig and the victim had more than a casual relationship."

  "Go ahead to the kitchen," he told the CSI. Take a left once you're through the door." The CSI hopped up the steps and disappeared into the house with his kit.

  "What have you got, Montgomery?"

  The sergeant pulled out his own notepad and read his notes to the Inspector. "The victim and Mr. Craig were lovers and planned to spend a romantic holiday together here before Mr. Craig left for Bermuda on a newspaper assignment."

  Wilson grunted. "I bet he's still hiding more than he's telling."

  "Oh, and Mr. Craig does play golf. Said he keeps his clubs in the storage unit at the golf course." "Good. I've got men in there right now going over every single driver." Wilson scratched his head.

  "But what would be Mr. Craig's motive? The only real suspicion he's brought on himself has been from not being honest about his relationship. And then there's the sister." Wilson rubbed his eyes. "This has been a long day already. Where was I?"

  Montgomery cocked his head to one side, and tried to keep up with the Inspector's thoughts.

  "The sister," he repeated.

  "Oh yes. The sister knew about the lottery ticket, plus she called the victim's ex husband, whom she appeared to strongly dislike. And she plays golf. The ex doesn't, but that doesn't mean he couldn't have used the sister's golf club if they were in cahoots." "Lottery ticket,"

  Montgomery said and wrote in his notebook.

  "That may be why Craig was in the room; he was searching for the ticket. If he and Mrs.

  Thompson were intimate, she probably told him about it. And he plays golf. And he has no real alibi." Wilson stood up straight. "But why would he stay here if he had the ticket?” He paced in front of the door. “He didn't have the ticket! That's why he was in her room before I arrived.

  "Come with me, Montgomery."

  They hurried into the house.

  * * *

  Wilson stood eye to eye with Larry Craig in the kitchen. "Mr. Craig, would you consent to a search of your belongings for any evidence related to this case?"

  "For what?" Craig reddened. "I've told your officer about me and Agatha already." "If you refuse, I can easily get a search warrant."

  "Fine. Go ahead. There's nothing to find." Larry folded his arms and rubbed his eyes.

  "Agatha and I loved each other. And that's the truth."

  "You have the right to be present. Let's go." Wilson led the way, followed by Craig, then Montgomery.

  "Your key, please?" Wilson held out his hand, and Larry handed him the room key. Wilson unlocked the door and entered. "Sergeant Montgomery, will you please stay out here with Mr.

  Craig?"

  "Yes, Sir."

  "You're not going to find anything," Larry protested. "Such a waste of time." Then he leaned in to shout through the doorway, "And privacy!"

  Wilson searched the suitcase and carefully checked the lining. He looked under the bed. He examined every visible square inch and sat on the bed with a scowl. His cell phone vibrated in his pocket.

  "Wilson," he answered. "I see." His scowl deepened. "Would you bring the team to the house, then? I'd like the victim's room and another guest's room thoroughly processed. Thank you."

  He hung up and went to the door. "None of the drivers at the golf course tested positive for anything other than bunker sand and sweat." He glared at Craig. "The CSI team will be here shortly to examine the room for any forensic evidence. Please stay with Sergeant Montgomery until you're told otherwise."

  "Am I under arrest, then?" Larry’s anger echoed in his voice.

  "Not yet. Let's just say that you are a person of interest, and we don't want you to wander off."

  "Wait until this story hits my paper," Guilford muttered. "Can I at least go downstairs and get some coffee?"

  "Go ahead, Montgomery."

  Sergeant Montgomery led Larry downstairs.

  Wilson went back into the room and searched through the bathroom again. He looked under the counter and in the trash can, and stuck his finger in the drain in the sink. "Where is the lottery ticket?" he asked his troubled reflection.

  * * *

  "I'm back; did you miss me?" Larry quipped sarcastically as he breezed into the kitchen.

  "Maureen, I was hoping to get some of your excellent coffee for me and my watchdog." He pointed to Montgomery, who stood a few inches away.

  "Of course! That sounds like a wonderful idea." She rose, but Gwyneth waved her back into her chair.

  "Just sit down, there. I'll take care of it, and you relax." Gwyneth went to the cupboard and pulled out an empty coffee can. "Uh-oh, this one's empty. Do you have another?"

  "Is it? Oh dear. That's the second time this month. I'm so sorry, Mr. Crai
g." Maureen tilted her head and offered a sympathetic look. "Maybe tomorrow?" She looked at Daniel.

  "It's, uh, possible. Maybe. I'm sorry, Mr. Craig. It's just that it's hard to remember or keep up when…" he wrung his hands, "…I'm just really sorry. I'll get some in the morning." Daniel paced to a corner and folded his arms. "I'm truly sorry."

  "It's okay, it's just coffee. Maybe the watchdog and I could drive into town and get some." He looked at Montgomery who shook his head. "Guess not."

  Wilson walked in and stood next to Sergeant Montgomery. "Rooms are being processed now.

  How are things here?"

  Maureen smiled. "I can make us some lemonade. That will be nice and refreshing." She got up to get the lemons from the produce storage. "It is hard around here, sometimes, to keep up, especially when business is slow like it has been."

  Wilson caught on to the conversation and made a notation in his book. As he wrote he glanced up and saw Daniel in the corner, chewing on a fingernail.

  "Excuse me," Wilson said and squeezed past Montgomery and Larry. He kissed his wife Gwyneth on the cheek. "Thank you for coming. How is everyone holding up?"

  "As well as can be expected. I hope the case closes soon, though. It’s closing in on dinner time, and the natives are getting restless."

  "Soon, I hope, too." He gave his wife a light hug. "I've got to go over my notes. If anyone needs me, I'll be in the guest lounge."

  "Jack, would you like some fresh lemonade? It will be ready soon." Maureen paused from cutting her lemons.

  "Sure, that would be great,” replied Wilson, “Excuse me, but I'm going to do some work in the other room. Just let me know when it's ready. Thanks, Maureen."

  * * *

  The growing dusk outside cast long shadows into the room, and Jack hunched over his notes under the light of a single lamp. The occasional voices from the kitchen wafted in, and his desire to close this case soon ballooned into an urgent need. The victim deserved justice, but his friends deserved peace. The sight of Daniel's agitated face troubled him, and he studied his notes with even more attention.

  "Inspector, there you are." A CSI team member joined him at the table. "I'm sorry, I didn't get your name."

  "Buckingham, Sir. And we've got the results from processing the rooms upstairs." "And?"

  "And nothing. There is no gross or trace evidence related to the crime other than the victim's blood on the carpet in her room.

  "No lottery ticket?" "Not even an old one."

  Wilson took a deep breath and held it. He stood up and let it out slowly. "We need a weapon, and we need a motive!" He waved a hand in the air toward the kitchen. "I've got a suspect, but no evidence to connect him."

  "Inspector Wilson!" A voice from the foyer called out. A gentleman in golf clothes and shoes walked in with the rick-rack rattle of the cleats on the hardwood floor.

  Wilson winced at what the repair bill might be. "I'm Inspector Wilson. What can I do for you?"

  "The officer outside said I should give this to you." He held out a golf driver caked with sand. The business end was caked with sand that had a reddish tint.

  Wilson pulled out a handkerchief and gently took the club. "What's your name?"

  "Derryck Morton."

  "Where did you find this, Derryck?" Wilson handed it to officer Buckingham who had already donned protective gloves.

  "Well, I had this bit of trouble on the eighth. The bunker there is quite a challenge to bypass.

  I hate to admit it, but I sort of lost my temper and swung at the sand back and forth. I like to think that I was punishing it," he chuckled. "Ahem," he cleared his throat. "Sorry. So, as I was saying, I was whipping at the sand and I hit the handle end of that club. It was just sticking out of the sand. I thought maybe someone else had lost their temper - the eighth can be a tricky one -

  and buried the club. I came to return it, but when I came toward the main house here, the officers ran up to me and told me to come see you." He shrugged. "And here I am."

  Wilson looked over his shoulder at Buckingham. He gingerly brushed off some of the sand and dusted for prints.

  "Got a partial!" Buckingham looked up at Wilson with a look of triumph.

  Wilson turned to the man in front of him. "Mr. Morton, thank you very, very much. If you would be so kind as to just give your name and contact information to one of the officers outside, we'll contact you if we have any questions. Thank you again." He whirled back to the table.

  "Blood?" He asked.

  "Just a minute," Buckingham said, and sprayed Luminol on the head of the driver. "Here goes. Cross your fingers." He held up a battery-powered black light from his forensics kit and waved it over the club. It glowed like a giant night-light.

  Wilson jumped up. "Yes! There's a ferry in about half an hour. Run this back to your precinct and process the prints. Give the club to Will Moore at the ME's office. Call me immediately with everything you find."

  "I'm already on it." Buckingham carefully bagged the club and his kit and ran out the door.

  Wilson paced and looked at his watch and did some time estimates in his head and out loud.

  "Half- hour, then about forty minutes, I should hear back by eight thirty."

  Chapter 6 - The Truth is Driven Out

  Jack Wilson practically waltzed into the kitchen at The Last Chance Inn. "Maureen, I'd love some of that lemonade."

  Maureen poured a tall glass and handed it to him. "You seem to be in a better mood than the last time you were in here."

  "Oh, it's just the ups and downs of the job."

  "Inspector Wilson?" Larry called up to him from a chair at the kitchen table. "It's getting late, and we're all hungry and tired. Do you have any plans for dinner? Or are we to starve until we confess?"

  "Daniel? Maureen? Do you have anything quick to prepare? Maybe some leftovers or something?" Wilson looked at his watch. "Wow, already eight o'clock. I apologize for keeping you all cooped up in here for so long, but this ordeal will hopefully soon be over."

  "I do have a breakfast casserole from this morning that we didn't use. I'll put it in the oven; it'll be ready in no time." Maureen and Gwyneth set about the kitchen, getting plates and silverware.

  Wilson's phone vibrated, and he stepped out of the room to answer. "Yeah, I figured, but it's always good to cross the T's and dot the I's. Anything else yet?" Wilson took a step closer to the kitchen and looked through the door at his only suspect now. "No, that's okay, thanks." He hung up and went to the table in the lounge.

  "Cross my T's and dot my I's." He sat down with his notebook and entered his new notes. L.

  Thompson alibi checked out. Sister was at work on a double shift. He reviewed everything and concentrated for a few minutes then stopped.

  "Noises in Agatha's room? Wait, what?"

  His shoulders grew heavy again, and he stood. After being on the force for so long, he understood that a little information could be a dangerous thing; it could often be spun several different ways. The burden of his job involved digging out as much information as possible so that very few gray areas remained.

  He gathered up his notes and went to the kitchen. He leaned just inside the door and called across the room, "Daniel, can we talk a minute?"

  Daniel startled a bit and pointed to himself. "Me? Sure." He looked around at the others watching him go.

  "Come on over here." Jack led Daniel into the guest lounge. "Just one question. "On the night of the murder, you reported to Sergeant Montgomery that you were heading to bed and heard some noises coming from Agatha's room. What did you hear?'

  Daniel blushed. "You know how it is in the hospitality business, Jack." "What did you hear, Daniel?"

  "It sounded like," Daniel leaned in and whispered, "like people making love." "What time was that?"

  "Around nine."

  "Thanks, that's what I needed to know. You can go on back."

  Wilson trailed Daniel by two steps and when he reached the kitchen, he called both the sergeant and<
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  Larry Craig. "Come on, we've got some more talking to do." They went into the guest lounge and sat at the table.

  "Alan, will you take the notes on this while I talk with Larry here?" "Yes, Sir."

  "Okay, now, Mr. Craig. Here's the thing. We have a statement that last night, before Agatha was murdered, there were, let's say, 'amorous' sounds coming from her room around nine o'clock.

  Tell me what you know about those sounds."

  Larry looked at the table and played with his fingers.

  "The housekeeper may have taken the bed sheets off the bed, but that doesn't mean we can't have them tested," Wilson said with a satisfied smirk.

  "I already told you. Agatha and I were lovers." Larry looked everywhere except at Inspector Wilson. "Mr. Craig. Larry. Did you spend all day with her?"

  "Yes. Well, mostly."

  "Were you in her room yesterday morning?"

  Larry fidgeted in his chair and finally looked up at the Inspector. "Okay, yes. I was with her that morning. And before you ask, yes, I was with her when she screamed. I just hid when Maureen came to the door."

  "Why did she scream?" Wilson grew more frustrated. Getting information from a newspaper reporter was as easy as giving a yeti a manicure.

  "She won the lottery, okay?" Larry threw his hands in the air as if surrendering. "She saw the numbers on the television and they all matched, and she got so excited that she screamed."

  "Where is her ticket?"

  "I don't know."

  "Mr. Craig." Wilson tossed a look of reproach across the table.

  "I don't know!" Larry shouted. He looked around then lowered his voice and leaned in toward his interrogator. "Look, she found out she won the lottery, and we made plans to meet in Bermuda then travel the world after my last assignment down there. That's it. I swear."

  "You were in her room that morning, and you were in her room last night, right before she was killed."