"There is a lot but I might be able to sell all the furniture with the house. I’m hoping to just pack a few boxes of books and some sentimental things."
"What in the world will you do with all that bed linen? There must be seven bedrooms!"
"If the new owner wants to run an inn, they might want them. I suppose my parents and sister might like to have some of the original, patchwork quilts."
"You should have them appraised by a professional antique dealer."
"Appraised? The linens? Why?"
"Not the linens! We had a quilt exhibition at the gallery a couple of years ago and some of the original, old ones can bring in tens of thousands of dollars!"
"No!" I gaped at her. "Really?"
Danielle glanced at me, her face serious. "It's true. I was pretty surprised too. Apparently, the early settler quilts are the most prized. They're all handmade and the really intricate ones are just exquisite to look at for hours."
"I'm fairly certain these are store-bought. I don't think Edie would put a valuable quilt on a guest bed."
"She might if she didn't know any better. I can take a look if you like? I'm not an expert but I might recognize one from the show I saw."
"Do you think that's what the thief wanted? A valuable quilt?"
"Maybe. The rare ones are highly sought after."
"He didn't look like a quilter to me." But then again, what did he look like?
"I don't know about that but here we are at The Maple Tree. Shall we go in?" Danielle asked as she pulled up to the curb. The street wasn't busy and the parking lot didn't have any traffic. From what I could see, it was less than a quarter full.
"Would you stay at the nicest hotel in town if you were planning to rob a local house?" I wondered as we got out. We crossed the sidewalk and took the path to the doors.
"I don't know how a criminal thinks," replied Danielle.
We stepped inside and crossed the lobby. A man sat behind the concierge desk. He looked up and smiled when we approached.
"I'm sorry to trouble you," I started, as I read his name tag: Don Pollard, Deputy Day Manager. "I'm looking for someone who might have been a guest here in the last few days."
"I’m sorry but I can't give out any of the residents’ personal information so I'm not sure how much help I can be."
"Would you recognize a photo of a prior guest if we showed it to you?" asked Danielle. When Don nodded, I pulled the newspaper article from my purse and smoothed the photo.
Don took a look at it and shook his head. "That’s the man who was shot at the old Blackberry Inn, isn't it?" he asked.
"That's right," I confirmed.
"He wasn't ever a guest here. I don't think I've seen him before."
"You're absolutely sure? Could he have come in when you weren't on duty?" I asked.
"No. We're not too busy this week. I've seen all our guests. I'm happy to say he definitely isn't one of them."
We thanked him and walked outside. "One down, how many more to go?" I said.
Inside the car, Danielle called up the browser on her cellphone. A moment later, she said, "There's two other bed and breakfasts in town, a larger inn just outside the city limits and four motels. We can cover all of these in an hour or two. If he stayed in Halliwell or closer to the mountains, we might never find him though; there are too many places to search, and there’s always the possibility he stayed with a friend."
"That's true. Plus, I think he'd be less suspicious if he were closer."
"What do you mean?"
I thought about it for a moment. "He would need to leave during the night, or towards dark, and probably planned to return sometime in the early morning hours. I don't think he'd want to risk being pulled over at night or drawing attention to himself in some other way. A night manager might recall him leaving and returning at strange hours."
"That's possible. It's also plausible that he wanted to stay some distance away from his targets. Maybe he stayed in Halliwell, because he planned to burglarize Calendar."
"We can only check so much so I think we should stick to the local hotels. He probably wouldn't want anyone to remember him in case anything went wrong, so The Maple Tree Hotel wasn't a smart choice. I'm glad we eliminated it. We should check the cheaper motels. The type that take cash upfront and don't ask any questions."
"We have those here?" asked Danielle, raising her eyebrows.
"There's always one somewhere! Let's start with the first on your list and go from there."
The first two motels were on the nicer end of the scale. One catered to tourists and short-term renters who preferred a studio apartment instead of a hotel room, and the other was currently undergoing a makeover. It promised nice accommodations with a bargain price tag. The third was pleasant, if not a touch scruffy, although the lady at the counter was gracious and helpful.
"Last one," said Danielle, pulling into the parking lot of the worst motel of the bunch. My cellphone began to ring just as we parked. "You get that, and I'll go check with the clerk."
"Thanks." I answered as she hopped out. "Hi, Nate," I said into the phone.
"I just got to your place. Where are you?"
"About ten miles out of town but I'm just about to head back. I'm sorry I missed you." I winced at my choice of words, not least because I realized, I did miss him. I missed him horribly.
"You didn't. I can wait," he said gruffly.
"I'll be as fast as I can get there. See you soon." I waved to Danielle as she hurried back to the car.
"Let's get out of here." She buckled up and pulled out, a grim look on her face.
"What is it? Did the clerk recognize him?"
"No, but he just tried to sell me a room by the hour!" Danielle pulled a face. "I need to go home, take a shower, and burn my clothes. Maybe I should book a makeover too. Perhaps get some tips from your sister on soccer mom chic."
I couldn't help laughing. Then Danielle burst into laughter too and between the two of us, we howled until we shook for the next few minutes. The mission may have been a bust, but the tension finally drained away.
Chapter Ten
By the time Danielle dropped me off in front of The Blackberry Inn, I felt cheerful. My old friends all rallied around eagerly and despite our investigation of the local hotels not turning up anything useful, I felt positive at last. We might not have discovered where the dead man was staying, and I still didn't have his name or motive, but perhaps Tia and I could find his car later, and then, perhaps we would know. Danielle had a couple of errands to run but she promised to come back very quickly to take a look at the quilts. I was ninety-nine percent positive they weren't valuable but as Danielle insisted, it couldn't hurt to make sure.
Nate was waiting for me on the veranda, resting on the porch swing with his hands behind his head and his eyes hidden behind a pair of dark sunglasses. With his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, I had to wonder if he'd fallen asleep.
I stood in front of him, trying to decide if I should nudge his foot or lean in and give his shoulder a shake.
"You going to stare at me all day?" he asked.
I jumped. "What? No! I wasn't staring."
"Looks like you were."
"I was trying to decide whether to wake you or leave you out here sleeping on my porch."
"Thought you weren't keeping it."
"It technically is my porch and Aunt Edie never stipulated that I had to live in it in order to own it. Are you coming in to do see all the the work I need done or not?"
"Not if you're going to talk to me like that."
"Like what?" I snipped.
"So snappish." Nate lowered his arms and pulled off his sunglasses as he leaned forwards, straightening up a little and resting his elbows on his thighs. "You need me to make the improvements on the house so you can sell it, and I want to do the work because I love—" My breath caught before he continued, "—Victorian-era houses."
"You want to do this work simply because you love the
house?"
"Yes, and because you and I were best friends once, and not so long ago. There's one condition though."
I narrowed my eyes. What could Nate possibly want from me, except...
"Go on," I said.
"I want the right of first refusal on the house."
I blinked. "First refusal?"
"On the sale. If it's affordable, I want the right of first refusal."
"Why? This house is huge. You're a single man! This is a house for a large, extended family." I stopped, as I wondered, was that why Nate wanted to buy it? I never noticed a wedding ring but that didn't mean he hadn't settled down and gotten married. "Do you have a family now?"
"No, I’m still single, but I've always loved this house. And if you really don't want it, do we have a deal?" He held out his hand.
"Deal," I agreed, placing my hand in his to seal our negotiation. He closed his fingers around mine but didn't shake my hand. Instead, he simply looked up at me, and I saw a sad expression on his face that disappeared as quickly as I noticed it.
"Let's get to it then," he said, dropping my hand and standing up. "I already made a list of the exterior work that needs to be inspected and repaired. How bad is it inside?"
"Surprisingly, not too bad," I told him. "There're a couple of things that need fixing but mostly it's a case of cosmetic updates. The floors in the rear living room need a good sanding and refinishing, too. Apparently, Aunt Edie and her clan of artists never heard of dropcloths."
"After you."
I unlocked the door and Nate followed me in. "How many cleaning products have you been using in here?" he asked, sniffing the air.
"Just about everything I could find in Edie's supply closet. I'll air the house out once more. I’m trying to get rid of that awful disinfectant smell. Let's start in the kitchen. I noticed some of the cabinet hinges were loose or missing. Oh, and I can't find a key for one door. I'm not even sure what's behind it so if you can get the lock off and change it today, that would be great." I walked ahead and Nate jogged to catch up with me. Together, we walked through the house as I pointed out the various things that needed to be repaired or remodeled and he took copious notes. I showed him the gallery wall Aunt Edie made, a private selection of her collected art and her students’ paintings. Nate said it needed spackling and repainting, and the floor needed to be refinished. Nate made a few suggestions on ways to accomplish some repairs without busting the budget, but he mostly kept quiet. I also mentioned the chimneys needed sweeping as we walked upstairs, moving through the bedrooms while Nate checked the closets and bathrooms, making notes of his own.
We paused in the front room where he checked the temporary plywood sheet he put up over the broken window. He declared it safe for now and we walked downstairs and into the kitchen. Nate dropped his notepad on the table and beckoned me over to take a look. "None of this is too difficult," he told me, "or expensive. I highly recommend you replace the tiles in the blue bedroom's bathroom. So many of them are cracked or chipped and I might be able find you some new reproductions that reflect the same era. How does that sound?"
"Sounds great! What kind of figure are we looking at then?"
Nate ran his finger down the list before he penciled a number. "Maybe a hundred or two above this figure at the most. But to be clear, this is just an estimate for the interior work. We still need to talk about any outside embellishments."
I expected a much larger estimate than that and the figure he gave me for the interior work wasn't even the least bit daunting. Once I sold the inn, I could recoup all the money I spent. Aunt Edie left me the house but almost all of her saved money was used up in nursing home costs. "Yes, of course."
"I already made a note of the necessary improvements to the front but I wasn't sure if anyone was allowed around back so I didn't take a look yet. Do you want to go with me out there now?" Nate nodded toward the French doors.
"What? I... uh..." I gulped.
"I could go out there by myself if you'd prefer?"
"No, that's fine." I couldn't avoid going out into the yard forever. Plus, by having Nate here, there was less of a chance that anything awful would happen. "I'll get the keys."
I retrieved the keys from where I stashed them in one of the kitchen drawers and unlocked the door, stepping out with Nate. Now that I was outside on the veranda, it seemed so much worse than I remembered. The wisteria had punched through the veranda roof in several places, not just one as I originally thought, and several of the balusters looked wobbly, and less than stable.
"On first look, I think I need to replace a couple of the floorboards and balusters. I can get some that match the originals pretty close; once they're repainted, no one will ever know. The trees are beyond my capability but I can give you the number of a good arborist who can prune them back without killing them. Mature landscaping is a pricey feature. The roof will need a little work, and I have to repair the holes but it's not as bad as it looks. The main roof is fine. What do you want to do about the garage?"
"The garage?"
Nate moved over to the edge of the veranda and stepped into the small patch of yard that wasn't yet overgrown. "It is still there, isn't it?"
I hurried to join him, careful not to look at the chair. It hadn’t changed position from when the dead man was removed. "I didn't even think about it. Everything is so overgrown, I haven’t gotten around to it yet."
"I can get a couple of backhoes in here and my guys can clear it up in a day. We can talk about what to do with the garage then."
"Sounds good."
"You okay?"
I glanced at the chair again. "Someone died out here two days ago, Nate, and we're talking about yard maintenance," I told him. "It seems so surreal and weird."
Nate tucked his arm around my shoulders and pulled me against him. I rested my head on his shoulder, relishing how comfortable it felt. Just like I remembered. It was warm, familiar, and damn, he smelled really good. "Gotta keep moving forwards," he said. "How about we start by getting rid of that old garden furniture? I can haul it out of here right now. We’ll just throw it into the back of my truck."
"Yes, please," I mumbled against his shirt.
"Everything will be just fine, Vanessa."
I pulled back from him, the familiarity suddenly overbearing. "Easy for you to say. The newspaper didn't insinuate that you were a murderer this morning."
Nate tossed back his head and laughed. I punched his arm. Before I could say anything else, the doorbell rang. "Go get that and I'll start taking down all the pictures in the rear living room. I need to assess the state of the whole wall. I think you're right, though. It probably just needs spackle and paint but worst-case scenario, it might also need new dry wall in some spots. Where do you want me to stack all the paintings?"
"Anywhere you like."
"Do you need protective cloths and tarps for any of it?"
"I don't think so. Most of them are from the students in Edie's art classes, but try to be careful with them anyway. I might offer some of them back to her group."
"You should keep the sentimental ones," said Nate. "Art is a wonderful asset to have. I'll make sure none of them are damaged."
"Thanks," I called over my shoulder as I left the room.
Danielle waited on the porch, a large, glossy book under her arm. "Sorry I had to run off," she said as I invited her in. "I had to get to the post office before they closed. Then I thought I'd run back by my mom's and pick up this book. It has lots of photos of those quilts I mentioned before. This one features solely pioneer quilts but the ones we had at the gallery were from the Civil War era."
"Do people still put them on their beds? Surely, they're too threadbare and delicate." I took one of the books, leafing through it. Danielle was right. Some of the quilts were absolutely stunning and I gasped when I read the listed sale prices.
"Oh, gosh, no. They're only used for displays now and plenty of reproductions exist for household purposes." Danielle handed me
the second book and I flicked through it, marveling at the intricate patchwork. "Who's that?" she asked when the sound of a hammer came from the back of the house.
"Nate Minoso," I told her. "He's checking for dry rot on the rear living room wall."
"Whatever for?"
"Hopefully, to confirm that it just needs some spackle and new paint rather than new studs and new drywall."
"I don't know how you manage to put up with this. You could just sell it as is and move to a nice, newly built house. Why don’t you just leave the renovations to the new owners?"
"I considered it seriously, believe me, but I hate to see it in this condition. Besides, it will be much harder to sell it without fixing some of the problems. Plus, any sensible new owner would try to knock down the price based on the condition it is at present. They'll probably want to know everything about it from the age of the roof to the reliability of the old heating system. It makes better sense to stage the house properly and show it in the best light possible."
"I am so glad I just rent an apartment," laughed Danielle. "Let's take a look at those quilts."
We went upstairs and I told her I stripped all the linens from the beds and washed and folded most of them before stacking them in the linen closet. There were still several more loads left to go. I didn't want to hang anything out to dry in the rear yard. Not only because it was overgrown but also because the garden chair still had the man's bloodstains on it. I used the dryer for all of my washing loads.
Danielle pulled out the quilts but didn't bother unfolding them. Instead, she was searching for labels. She returned all but one to the pile. "You're right, these are all store-bought, but this one at the bottom of the pile looks handmade. I think it's a reproduction, but if it is, it's been done very nicely."
"I'm sure that belonged to Aunt Edie's mother. I recall seeing it on her bed a few times but never on the guest beds."
"That makes sense. It's far too nice to not have been cherished and preserved. Oh, these are nice too. Not valuable at all, but they are pretty." Danielle reached into the back of the shelf, near the top. She pulled out a pair of twin quilts in several shades of pink.
Alibi in April (Calendar Mysteries Book 4) Page 9
