“It’s her attitude.”
“Have you ever spoken with her?” Tori pressed.
“No. She wouldn’t lower herself to speak to the likes of me—or you.”
“Why wouldn’t she talk to me?”
“You are Herb Cannon’s granddaughter.”
Word did indeed get around.
“As a matter of fact, I have spoken to her. She didn’t seem that bad to me.”
“Watch out for her property manager.”
“She has a property manager?” Anissa asked.
“She owns more than just the big house on the hill, you know.”
They didn’t.
“In the city, the Bloomfields would be called slum lords. Here they’re just redneck landlords. Lucinda’s property manager, Avery Simon, is just as mean a bully as Biggie Taylor when it comes to collecting Lucinda’s rents. Don’t pay and she starts eviction, then goes to court to make sure she’s paid what’s owed her.”
“Surely she doesn’t go to court herself.”
“She keeps an attorney on retainer. He more than earns his keep,” Dan said.
A car pulled up outside, and a man and woman got out. He opened the back door and pulled out a couple of fishing rods, then they headed for the door to the shop.
“Thanks for talking to us,” Tori said, and she and Anissa started for the door.
“How can I help you folks?” Don asked the customers.
Tori walked over to the concrete boat launch that sloped into the water. “Man, if we had one of these, we’d make out like a bandit. What do you think it would cost to pour all that cement?”
“A lot more than a new light for your dock, that’s for sure,” Anissa said. “Hey, it sounded to me like you were actually defending Lucinda Bloomfield to that guy. Why?”
Tori shrugged. “I get annoyed when people badmouth women for no reason. She’s not my enemy.”
“No, but you weren’t above having a little fun with her last night.”
Tori nodded and felt ashamed. Still, what was Lucinda’s beef against trade when she apparently was a hardened businesswoman herself?
“Come on. Let’s go get a few of those egg salad sandwiches. I’m starved.”
They walked back across the bridge in silence. Tori wondered if Anissa was thinking about Avery Simon, wondering if he was bully enough to strangle someone who annoyed his employer one time too many. But what about the spikes that had filled Jackson’s mouth? That seemed like a punishment—or maybe a warning to others: don’t talk, or this could happen to you, too.
What was it that someone didn’t want Jackson to talk about?
CHAPTER 10
Kathy was late for work. She’d hit some construction on Route 19 that had traffic backed up a good five miles. She’d intended to go home before heading to the hotel, but nixed that idea when the dashboard clock gave her the bad news.
“Don’t look now, but we’re in trouble,” said Dana, her evening desk clerk.
“Why?”
“We’re over capacity.
“How the heck did that happen?”
“That tour bus that came in at three. They booked fifteen rooms, but needed nineteen. And we had an influx of gamblers come in. The day shift gave away our remaining four rooms.”
“Oh, no,” Kathy groaned. It was up to her to find rooms at their competition to accommodate the overflow. Guests usually were not happy to find that once they arrived at their destination that they would have to get back in the car and go to another hotel—and sometimes another exit down the New York State Thruway.
“Besides that,” Dana said, as though relishing the delivery of bad news. “The pool pump died this morning, too.”
Kathy groaned. “What else can go wrong?”
“Bonita quit this morning, so they’re still working on getting the rooms up on the third floor ready for guests.”
“But it’s already almost four thirty.”
“I know it,” Dana said.
“Worst of all, Anderson, from headquarters, is in the office waiting for you.”
“He’s already here?” Kathy asked with dread.
Dana nodded. “He’s been here since three.”
“Oh, crap. Did you at least give him a cup of coffee or something? What’s he been doing all this time?”
“Checking the computer and digging through our paper files.”
The daytime manager wasn’t all that efficient when it came to filing, and Kathy had devised a new system. Anderson was known for leaving the place a wreck after one of his inspection tours.
“Well, I guess I’d better go face him.”
“Better you than me,” Dana said smirking.
Rodney Anderson was a formidable man. In his early fifties, he defied the limitations of that age by being fit, good looking, with a full head of salt-and-pepper hair and the reputation of being a hard-nosed bastard. They hadn’t clashed during their first meeting some two months before, but they hadn’t exactly gotten along well, either. Anderson seemed to find fault with just about everything at this particular hotel, even though it had one of the best reputations in the area. He was determined standards should be higher, no matter what mechanicals failed and the employee situation was on any given day.
The door to her office was ajar, but Kathy knocked just the same.
“Come in.”
Kathy poked her head inside. “Hey, Rod. What are you doing here today? Did we have an appointment?”
“Obviously not, otherwise I might have found you at your post. You are getting paid to be here for an eight-hour shift.”
Oh, dear. It was going to be one of those kinds of conversations.
“I was out of town for a couple of days, and the traffic on Route 19 was—”
“Yeah; handy excuse.” He gestured for her to sit in her own guest chair. She sat. He tapped at a piece of paper on the desk before him. “You were a day late filing the M-36 report last month.”
Oh, crap, which report was that? She had to file about forty of them a month.
“I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
“It better not.”
“The rooms on the third floor still haven’t been serviced.”
“Yes, Dana at the desk said one of our maids quit this morning.”
“Why didn’t you go up and help them?”
“It isn’t exactly in my job description,” she began.
“A manager can and should be able and willing to do any job that needs to be done,” he said tersely, his brown eyes cold and narrowed.
“Except that she quit on Martin’s watch, not mine. I’ve only been here for about five minutes, and—”
“I don’t want to hear excuses.”
Kathy frowned. “Rod, is something wrong?”
“Wrong? What could possibly be wrong?”
“Nothing. I thought perhaps—”
“You’re paid for work, not opinions.”
Kathy took a breath, fuming in silence.
Anderson got up from the desk, towering over her. “I’ve walked through every inch of this hotel during the past hour and I’ve got a list as long as my arm of what could be done better, what could be cleaner, and what could lose you your job.”
“Excuse me,” Kathy said, “But I wasn’t scheduled to work for the past two days. I don’t see how everything could have fallen apart in so short a time. What did Martin have to say?”
“He’s on report, and so are you!”
“For what?”
“A burned out light bulb in on the third floor hallway. Scuff marks on the floor of the elevator. Vending machines with empty slots.”
“Oh, come on, Rod. You know that we don’t service those machines.”
“Then you should be hounding the vendor to keep them full. Our patrons expect it.”
Less than a block away was a strip mall with a grocery store, a big box store, and a pharmacy that sold everything under the sun, including junk food, pop, and candy. Since the items he descri
bed could be found there for much less, it was rare that the vending machines on site went empty of anything.
Kathy’s mind was awhirl. “Just what does being on report mean?”
“If you incur any more infractions, you’ll be up for disciplinary action.”
“For a burned out light bulb and some scuffs on the elevator floor?”
“We may not be the highest-end hotel in the area, but we strive to give our customers the best experience they can possibly have. And we expect all our employees to give one-hundred-and-ten percent effort. You’re lacking.”
“I don’t think so.”
“I beg your pardon?” Anderson practically bellowed.
“I said, I don’t think so. I’ve worked my tail off since I came onboard three months ago. Since then, our customer satisfaction surveys have shown a ten-percent improvement.”
“Not good enough.”
“They mentioned customer service above and beyond expectations, and cleanliness as being exceptional.”
“We can do much better than that—if you’re willing to show some initiative and work your employees harder.”
“I haven’t seen anyone shirk their duties.”
“Except for yourself—how often do you arrive late for your shift?”
“Virtually never,” she said, her simmering anger rising to a near boil.
“That’s what you say.”
“Why don’t you ask my employees?”
“Whose employees?” Anderson demanded. They glared at one another for long moments before Anderson spoke again. “Now, get up to the third floor and get those rooms cleaned. The clerk said we were overbooked and we need to be ready for the patrons.”
“Who’s going to call to find rooms for those we can’t accommodate?”
“You can do that after you’ve cleaned a few toilets.”
Kathy stood. “No.”
“I gave you an order.”
“And I’m telling you no. And if you can’t accept that, then you’re free to go clean those toilets yourself, because I’m out of here.”
“You can’t quit.”
“Watch me,” she said.
She strode over to the desk, pulled out a few personal items she’d accumulated during the past few months, shoved them into an empty paper box and headed for the door.
“Don’t expect a reference,” Anderson called after her.
Kathy didn’t look back.
“Kathy—hey, Kath, where are you going?” a panicked Dana called after her, but Kathy strode through the hotel’s front entrance and headed straight for her car. She unlocked the back, shoved the box inside, slammed the hatchback and got in the car. She pulled out her cell phone and punched in the number on the card sitting on the beverage restraint device next to her right knee. The phone rang four times before an answering machine kicked in. She waited for the beep.
“Jerry? This is Kathy Grant. I want to put in a full-price offer for the house near the Lotus Bay bridge. And I want the earliest closing date you can arrange. Please call me back any time tonight or tomorrow morning. Thanks.”
She left her number.
She’d probably just made two very stupid decisions, one she might regret within the hour, and yet … she couldn’t stop grinning.
#
“My daddy didn’t love me enough,” Anissa said, topping off her glass once more. Her words were beginning to slur and Tori wondered if a guest could cut off a host when inebriation threatened.
Tori reached for another fig bar. Boy, they sure tasted good with a glass of wine. She sat back on the couch in the bungalow’s cozy living room. “Why do you say that?”
“Because he didn’t fight for me. He let my mama take me and James away and he never came after us.”
“But surely you saw him over the years.”
“Not very often. He didn’t even send us Christmas cards.”
“But you said you talked to him a lot lately.”
“Yeah, but that’s only because I called him.” Anissa leaned back in the creased leather recliner in the bungalow’s tiny living room and wiped at her teary eyes. “And now it’s too late for us to ever be close.”
“Yeah, but didn’t you say your mother kept you from seeing him?”
“Are you trying to make her the villain?” Anissa accused.
“No!” Note to self. Never drink with Anissa again. At least not without feeding her first, Tori thought. “What else have you got to eat around here?”
“Nothing. I haven’t been to the store yet.”
Neither had Tori, but now wasn’t the time. Besides, she was pretty sure Tom’s Market closed at eight, and it was nearly nine. Anissa hadn’t waited for Tori to arrive before she’d poured herself a couple of glasses of wine. That was the danger of being alone with one’s grief. Her grandfather wasn’t much of a drinker, but he’d bought himself a six-pack when he’d gone to the store earlier that day, and when she left he was halfway through it.
Oh, what the hell, she thought, and topped up her own glass from the bottle on the coffee table. If she polished off the last of the wine, Anissa couldn’t.
“Why don’t you tell me about your daddy?”
Anissa’s eyes began to leak again. “I loved him. I wanted to be just like him, that’s why I took shop in high school. I had to really work at math. You know—measure twice, cut once and all that.”
“What do you mean? With saws and stuff?” Tori asked.
Anissa nodded. “Daddy made most of the furniture in this place; like that coffee table. It’s cherry. Look at that finish. I’m pretty good with polyurethane, but not as good as daddy was. It just takes patience, he used to tell me.”
“What else did he make?”
“The dining room furniture. Did you see the spindles on those chairs?”
“I must have missed them,” Tori admitted. “What was he like? Did he have any other hobbies?”
“He read a lot. He said he’d read just about everything in the Worton Library. He didn’t have the money to buy many books. I gave him a subscription to Fine Homebuilding and Handy magazines for Christmas last year.”
Tori looked across the room to a small bookshelf that housed the collection. “He must have cooked for himself. Was he any good at it?”
“No. That was one task he never mastered. Eggs were about all he ever cooked. Everything else came out of a can.”
“Sounds like my Gramps,” Tori said with a laugh.
“When he was a young man, he used to write poetry. It wasn’t very good. Mostly rhymey stuff.” Anissa gazed at the ceiling and began to recite, “You are my little girl; my precious little pearl. You fill my heart with joy; I’m glad you’re not a boy.” She giggled. “That was my favorite one. He used to tell me that every night when he tucked me in.”
“Did he have a poem for your brother?”
“Not that I remember. After the accident, he kept a journal. Some shrink at the hospital told him he might be able to accept his limitations better if he wrote about them.”
“Did he keep it up?”
“Yeah. I asked him what I could get him for his birthday last year and he said he’d be happy with a journal from the dollar store.” She shook her head. “I got him a couple of really nice leather-bound ones and he chewed me out for spending so much money.”
“I’m sure he was just concerned about your spending too much of your money on him. My grandparents were the same way. It’s funny, my brother and I were taught just to say thank you—no matter what we got. I guess our elders were of the ‘do as I say, not as I do’ point of view.”
Anissa drained her glass. “Damn. Now the wine’s all gone. The liquor store in Worton will be closed by now, too.”
It’s just as well; you’ve had enough, Tori thought. “So where are all these journals your daddy wrote in?”
Anissa frowned and looked around the room to the bookcase that housed the magazines. “There.”
“Do you think he wrote anything recently? Mayb
e he wrote about his encounter with Biggie Taylor.”
Anissa got up from her chair and weaved toward the bookshelf. Holding on to the shelf, she knelt down in front of it. Tori joined her as Anissa started pulling out the bound volumes and tossing them on the floor.
“Hey, stop—stop!” Tori said. She opened one at random. It was dated ten years before. “You might want to read these one day. But for now, let’s just look for the latest one.” She handed the book back to Anissa. Tori grabbed five or six and looked at the dates. None of them were recent. She shelved them and reached for another one. Anissa hadn’t put any back on the shelves, she was too busy reading.
Tori went through all the books and—wouldn’t you know it—it was the last one that had the most recent entries. Most of them appeared to be about fishing, the weather, and what book Mr. Jackson had finished and returned to the library. But most interesting was the fact that the last couple of entries had been ripped from the journal.
“Anissa, look at this.” She handed Anissa the book.
“Who could have done this?”
“Your daddy’s killer?”
“Or the police,” she accused.
“What do you mean?”
“They were here after he died. They left the place in a terrible mess, too. I’ll bet they took the pages. Why would they want to find my daddy’s killer? He was just some old black man—not worth their time.”
“Oh, don’t say that. But I do think it’s worth asking Detective Osborn about it. I mean, shouldn’t they at least have given you a receipt or something?”
“I will call that man first thing in the morning. I’d do it now, but I know for sure he wouldn’t answer after hours.”
“You’re probably right.”
Anissa looked to be on the verge of tears once more. She was angry with her father for abandoning her as a child, and she was angry with him for being killed, never to give her the close relationship she had so craved. Comparing their losses didn’t make Tori’s easier to bear, but it did put it into better perspective. She’d known without a doubt that she was loved unconditionally by her grandmother. And even if her grandfather’s mindset was still in the previous century, she had no doubt that he loved her, too.
“It’s getting late,” Tori said. “I’d better get going.”
With Baited Breath Page 12
