by Tim Myers
“How could you possibly know all of that?” Jackson asked.
Elizabeth explained, “He left his journal, and along with it, a suicide note on the last page.”
“So you wanted Danvers’ head on a stick,” Jackson said. “It’s understandable enough.”
“And plenty of motive for the police,” Elizabeth said. “That’s why we decided to keep it quiet until we could figure things out for ourselves.”
Something occurred to Alex. “You never had reservations here, did you? You were stalking him even then, weren’t you?”
Elizabeth nodded, but then said quickly, “We had no intention of killing him. We’ve been tailing him for months, showing up every time he was working on an investigation. We planned to keep dogging his steps until he broke down and begged us for our forgiveness.”
Alex doubted a man hardened enough to be a private investigator would ever apologize, but he didn’t really know the man. “But something changed.”
“You’re darn straight it did. Someone killed him,” Jackson said.
“You look pleased by that,” Elise said sharply.
Jackson shook his head. “I’m not glad the man’s dead, but at least there are more suspects thrown into the mix than the two of us.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “We didn’t kill him. That wasn’t our plan at all.”
“Maybe you or your brothers got tired of being so passive,” Jackson said. “It could be that one of you decided to end the cat-and-mouse portion of your plan and ramp it up to full blown murder for revenge.”
“Jackson,” Michelle said reproachfully. “Don’t speak to them like that. Apologize this instant for what you said.”
Alex could see the wheels turning in Jackson’s mind, and he knew that this could be a turning point for the relationship. It was clear that Michelle was coming into money. What wasn’t clear was whether Jackson was willing to lick her boots to get his hands on some of it. After a moment or two of hesitation, he said, “I’m sorry. I’m just stressed out, I guess.”
Michelle patted his arm as though he’d just done a special trick. “Thank you,” she said softly. “I know how hard that was for you.”
“You’re welcome, my love,” Jackson answered. It wasn’t clear whether he’d done as he was told out of love or greed, but what was certain was that he was having trouble choking down his own pride in front of the crowd.
“So, we all need alibis,” Jackson said gently, careful to take any sting out of his words. Before Michelle could protest, he amended, “The police will want to know where we were last night. Michelle and I were together, so at least we’re in the clear.”
Alex coughed, and then said, “Not necessarily.”
“What do you mean?” Michelle asked.
“One of you could have slipped out in the middle of the night, or you could have done it together. It’s not pretty, but murder never is.”
“Alex, have you completely lost your mind?” Michelle asked. “I thought you liked us.”
He indeed liked Michelle, but he was willing to let the assumption that he felt the same way about Jackson slide. “How I feel has nothing to do it with it. It’s what you can prove.”
“At least I’m in the clear,” Dutch said from the hallway.
“How do you get that?” John asked.
“I’m the only one here who didn’t have a motive to kill the guy.”
“That we know of,” Jackson said, and Alex was surprised to see other heads nod in agreement as well.
“Hang on a second. Don’t try to drag me into this.”
“Sorry, that ship has sailed. We’re all suspects, including our hosts,” Elizabeth said.
Alex answered, “We can’t deny it. Neither Elise or I had any reason to kill Danvers, but proving you don’t know someone is harder than it might seem. We’re just visiting here ourselves.”
“That doesn’t exactly clear you of suspicion,” Jackson said.
Elise shrugged. “I don’t know how to convince you all that we’re innocent, or even if I should try. What I do know is that I need to make dinner.”
Michelle started to join her as she walked to the kitchen when Alex said, “You should take some time to be with your…er…Jackson.”
Before she could protest, Alex trailed Elise into the kitchen.
She looked startled to see him there. “Shouldn’t you stay in there and referee?”
“Frankly, I’d rather count the bricks in the lighthouse,” he replied. “When it all comes down to it, you’re the one I care about, and the only one I want to be with. Do you mind the company?”
She kissed him, strong and hard, and then pulled away with a smile. “What do you think?”
“I think I’m glad I followed you in here,” Alex said with a grin of his own. “What’s on tap for tonight’s meal? Any chance we can satisfy the vegetarians?”
“I found spaghetti sauce in the pantry, but no pasta, if you can believe that, ” Elise said.
“It won’t do us much good then, will it?”
Elise smiled. “Are you kidding? I’ve been dying to make homemade pasta for quite a while.”
“It sounds complicated. Have you ever made it before?”
“My mother and I used to make it together all of the time. The reason I suggested it was because I found this in the appliance pantry.” She reached under the counter and pulled out a shiny chrome contraption the size of a tissue box.
“What does that do?” Alex asked.
“You clamp it down like this,” she said as she demonstrated, securing the machine on the edge of the counter, “and you take this handle and turn it.”
“What happens when you turn it?”
“The dough is smoothed out,” she answered.
“All to the same thickness?” Alex was skeptical, but he knew better than to question Elise’s abilities in the kitchen.
“No, there’s a dial on the side, and when you get it the right thickness, you use this extension,” she said as she pulled another gizmo out, “to cut the noodles. Trust me, it will be great.”
“We could make garlic bread, too,” Alex said. “There are some loaves of French bread in the food pantry.”
“That’s your job, then,” she said.
As Alex melted some butter on the stovetop and minced a little garlic to add to it, Elise measured out flour, a little salt, and got some eggs from the refrigerator. “It’s stayed cold enough, but we’ll probably have to finish what we’ve got left before long. At least the fridge wasn’t fully provisioned.”
“There’s that,” Alex said. As he watched the sauce pan, he observed Elise as she mixed the flour and salt together, then dumped it out onto the counter. Making a pool in the flour, she cracked eggs and kept adding them until she was happy with the mixture. Taking her fork, she broke the yolks, and then started adding more and more flour to the mix from the sides. It was an amazing thing to watch. She added a few drops of tap water, and after she was satisfied with the consistency, Elise took a French rolling pin and went over the dough a few times until she had a nice thickness.
“What happens now?” Alex asked as he brushed the garlic butter on top of the diagonal wedges of bread he’d cut. After dousing each one, he placed it on a cookie sheet and put it into the oven he’d preheated.
“Now it’s time to roll out the dough.”
Alex pulled out a bench and watched her feed the dough through the steel rollers again and again. Elise folded it each time, turned it a half turn, and then ran it through again. Only when she was satisfied with the texture of the dough did she move the rollers one step closer.
By the time she hit the seventh setting, the dough was long, paper thin, and nearly translucent. Using a knife, she cut the dough in sections, and then added the cutting attachment.
“Are you sure I can’t help?” he asked.
“You can crank,” Elise said. “I’ll feed the dough and catch the noodles.”
Alex took up his position, and under
Elise’s instructions, he began to turn the cutters. Thin dough went in, and strands of newly formed pasta came out.
“Is that all it takes?”
Elise had dishtowels out on the counter, and as each batch of noodles made their way through the machine, she tossed them lightly onto the cloth, along with a little flour each time to keep them from sticking together. “We don’t have a drying rack,” she explained. “Is the water boiling yet?”
She’d instructed Alex to nearly fill a large pot of water and start it boiling, which he’d done just after the garlic bread had gone into the oven.
“It’s a rolling boil,” Alex said.
Elise looked at it, salted the water lightly, and then added a little olive oil. She looked at Alex apologetically as she explained, “I’m not positive it helps keep the noodles from sticking, but Mom did it, so that’s good enough for me.”
“Don’t look at me. I’m just an observer.”
“You’re more than that,” she said. “I can handle the rest here. Why don’t you set the tables, now that we know everyone will be dining with us tonight.”
“I put out plates, glasses, and tableware before,” Alex said. “What else do we need?”
“Butter, grated parmesan cheese, and salt and pepper.”
“It sounds like a simple meal, but I’d be hard pressed to come up with anything half as elegant with twice the budget.”
Elise laughed. “During tough times as a kid, we had beans and cornbread, and then alternated it with pasta, no sauce. I didn’t even realize we were having it rough.”
“You ate better than most,” Alex agreed.
He walked out of the kitchen, and was surprised to find that two of the larger tables had been pushed together.
Elizabeth looked at him and said, “It’s ridiculous for us to keep our distance. We’re all in this together, so we might as well dine as a group. That is, if you don’t have any objections.”
“It’s fine with me,” Alex said, though what he’d really hoped for was a chance to eat alone with Elise in the kitchen. That just wasn’t going to happen now.
After he was finished, Alex came back into the kitchen and found Elise pulling the garlic bread out from the oven. “That smells wonderful,” Alex said. “Can I do that?”
She pointed to the sink. “I’ve got it. The pasta’s drained, and the sauce has been heating on the stovetop. We’re ready to eat.”
Alex took the large platter filled with bread, and then after dropping it off at the large table, he came back for the sauce while Elise grabbed the pasta.
Once they were in the dining room, Jackson looked at the fare. “Pasta? I hate pasta. Is that all you can feed us? You seriously can’t do any better than that?”
Alex was about to say something sharp when Elise answered, “If you don’t like it, and that goes for any of you, I’ll do my best to make something for you. After the rest of us eat, that is. Understood?”
There were nods around the table, and Elise put the pasta out while Alex put the sauce down.
Jackson took two forkfuls, added a lesser amount of sauce, and then took a bite. Alex watched his face as the tension eased instantly and a slight smile appeared. Jackson must have seen Alex watching him.
“It’s not terrible,” he said as he reached for the bowl.
Elizabeth wasn’t having any of that, though. “You had your turn. You can wait until we’ve had ours.”
She took a large portion, as did each of her brothers, but Elise had made more than enough for twice as many people.
By the time they were finished, there was barely enough pasta left to save.
It had been a big hit, and Alex was as proud of her as he could be. Not only had he chosen well in finding someone who complemented his abilities as an innkeeper, but he had found someone who made him happy. In the end, what more was there, really?
“What’s on tap for tonight?” Michelle asked as Alex and Elise gathered up the dirty dishes.
“More games?” Alex suggested.
“Isn’t there anything else we can do?” Greg asked.
“Why don’t you all go into the lobby and decide,” Alex said.
“What are you going to do?” Jackson asked.
“Dishes. Care to lend a hand?”
“No, I’ll leave it to the experts.”
Michelle offered, “I don’t mind helping.”
Elise smiled at her. “There’s really not all that much. Alex and I do more than this at our inn every day. We’ll be out shortly.”
Michelle nodded in agreement, but Alex thought he saw a little disappointment in her expression. Was there trouble in paradise, and was the marriage that was valid only in spirit starting to collapse under the pressure of a murder? It wouldn’t be the first relationship that suspicion had killed, he mused.
As they did dishes, Elise asked, “So tell me, Alex. Who did it?”
Alex looked at her, startled by the question. “Pardon me?”
“Come on, I know you too well to think for one moment that you haven’t been puzzling this out ever since you found the body. I want to know what you’re thinking.”
He thought about denying it, but there was no use. She knew him too well, if there was such a thing. “To be honest with you, I like Jackson Benning or Elizabeth Morrison,” he said.
“Why?” she asked as she handed him another plate to dry. They often chatted as they did dishes together, but the subjects were usually more innocuous, like first kisses and favorite songs.
“They both have strong wills and even stronger motives,” Alex said.
“And they both have a knack for getting under your skin,” Elise added.
“There’s that,” Alex said. “I suppose Michelle has more motive than Jackson to want to hide the truth of her affair, and either Morrison brother is just as capable of murder as their big sister.”
“Why do you think she’s oldest?” Elise asked.
Alex was surprised again by her question. “I don’t know. It must be because the men defer to her, and she has no problem bossing them around.”
“So, that just leaves Dutch and the two of us,” Elise said as she handed him another plate.
“Well, I know we didn’t do it,” Alex said.
“What about Dutch?”
Alex thought about it a few moments before he spoke. “How much do we really know about him, Elise? Harry told me about his presence in a letter, but that’s it. He’s a wild card, as far as I’m concerned.”
“What do you mean?”
A crazy thought struck Alex, and he dismissed it nearly as quickly as it had come, but Elise must have spotted something in his expression. “Alex, don’t hold out on me.”
Finally, he nodded his head. “Okay, this is crazy, but how do we even know he’s the real Dutch? I doubt that’s the name on the driver’s license of the real man; it’s an easy nickname to pick up. That means we can’t ID him.”
Elise nodded soberly. “And we can’t pick the phone up and ask Harry for a description. Alex, this changes everything.”
He touched her shoulder lightly. “Elise, don’t listen to me. I’m just being paranoid.”
“If it keeps us alive, it’s not being paranoid,” she said. “I’m going to keep an eye on him.”
“We’re already watching everyone else,” Alex admitted. “I don’t suppose it will hurt to keep tabs on Dutch.”
“I don’t like this, Alex,” she said as she handed him the last plate and pulled the drain from the sink basin. They’d had to heat the teakettle on the gas stovetop to get enough hot water to wash the dishes, and it had cooled now. “I’m not afraid to admit it, but I’m scared.”
Alex dried the plate, but it on the stack with the rest, and then threw the towel on the counter. “Trust me, I am, too. All we can really do is stay alert.”
“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get to sleep tonight,” she admitted.
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that,” Alex said. “I th
ink it might be a good idea if we sleep in shifts.”
She nodded. “Of course, that makes perfect sense. You are worried, aren’t you?”
“You’d have to be crazy not to be,” Alex said.
“Let’s see. We run a lighthouse inn in the mountains. Don’t you think that qualifies us a little over the edge anyway?”
“You’re probably right, but it’s home.”
She nodded, and he felt his heart swell again as she said, “I can’t ever imagine being anywhere else.”
Alex looked around the kitchen. “It’s a shame there’s no more to be done in here. I’m not all that eager to spend more time with these people.”
“Maybe this will be the last night we have to,” Elise said. “Surely someone will come dig us out of the sand tomorrow.”
Alex nodded, but in his mind, he added, ‘Before it’s too late.’ It wouldn’t be good to alarm Elise even more.
But he doubted he’d sleep again until they were safely back at Hatteras West.
Chapter 9
When Alex and Elise got out into the lobby, they found the large leaf table that was against the wall now opened up and pulled into the center of the room. There were enough chairs for each of them to have a seat. While the afternoon session of games had been smaller groups, it appeared that they would all be playing together now. Outside, the wind howled, and rain splashed up against the windows. Candles were spaced around the table, illuminating the scene with a flickering glow.
“What are we playing?” Alex asked.
“Not Clue,” Michelle said.
“Okay,” Alex agreed.
Greg added, “We thought that was a little too close to home. How do you feel about Monopoly?”
“It’s fine with me. Elise?”
“I should warn you that I’m not very good, but why not?”
Jackson looked at her carefully. “You wouldn’t be sandbagging us now, would you?”
Elise shook her head. “No, but would it matter if I were? We’re not playing for real money.”
Jackson smiled. “Now, there’s an idea. What say we each put money in the pot, and the winner takes all?”
“I’m not gambling,” Elizabeth said.
