“As far as I know, the only staff on duty at night is at the reception desk. Besides, from what I heard, a number of the guests were freaked enough to check out early after hearing of Stan’s death.”
“Yes, but there are sure to be new guests there now who have no idea that a murder took place on Friday.”
“And why is that? Because all traces of Stan Berry’s death have been obliterated, and his body removed?”
“Okay, you’ve made your point. There is no good reason to go back there.”
“Especially as you’re going to be there tomorrow morning, anyway. Why not just go earlier if you want to have another look around?”
Tricia sighed. “I suppose you’re right.”
“Of course I am. Although if you need a breath of fresh air, Sarge wouldn’t complain if you took him out about now.”
Sarge knew the meaning of the word out and instantly jumped to his feet, looking eager to answer the call of nature.
“Oh, all right.” Tricia looked down at the dog. “Walkies?”
Sarge barked and trotted down the hall to where his leash was stashed.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Tricia said, and followed the dog’s path. She snagged her coat, clipped the leash on Sarge’s collar, picked him up, and headed down the stairs. Tricia disabled the alarm and went out the back door to the alley. She set Sarge on the ground and he immediately trotted over to his favorite spot by a stand of dying poplar trees. Tricia let the pooch sniff to his doggy heart’s content. Her mind was back at the Brookview Inn, going over the events that had led to Stan Berry’s death. That is until Sarge stood at attention and began to bark.
Tricia’s head snapped around, and she looked for the cause of the dog’s concern but instantly relaxed when she recognized the silhouette that approached.
“Is that you, Tricia?” Chauncey Porter called over Sarge’s ferocious barks.
“Sarge, hush!” Tricia ordered, but while the command instantly worked for Angelica, it didn’t bring her the same results. “Sarge!” It wasn’t until she lifted him up that the dog went silent.
“Hi, Chauncey. Taking your evening constitutional?”
“It’s the best way to keep the pounds off,” he said with a laugh. He stopped in front of Tricia, offered his hand, and let Sarge sniff it. The dog licked Chauncey’s fingers, apparently deciding he was friend and not foe. “What a nice little dog you are.” Sarge cocked his head to one side, looking incredibly cute.
“And why are you out here instead of Angelica?” Chauncey asked.
“I was feeling restless. I have to admit, I always feel this way after there’s been an unexplained death in Stoneham,” Tricia fudged.
Chauncey frowned and nodded. “Yes. Me, too. I’ll feel better once Chief Baker makes an arrest.”
“So will I.”
Chauncey yanked the sleeves of his jacket to better cover his wrists. “Is Angelica ready to win the election tomorrow?”
Tricia smiled. “Raring to go. How’s Eleanor? I thought she might be walking with you tonight.”
“She’s fine, but it’s a bit cold for her to walk at night. She prefers to use her treadmill when the temperature drops, but I like to be out and about. I can look at the moon and the stars and can revel in the peace and quiet.”
“There is that appeal,” Tricia admitted.
Sarge yipped, reminding Tricia that his business was done, that he’d saved the neighborhood from attack, and now it was time for bed.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” Tricia said.
“I wouldn’t miss it. Good night.”
“Good night,” Tricia said. She climbed the steps to reenter the Cookery, locked the door behind her, and reset the alarm. Then she and Sarge climbed the steps to Angelica’s apartment.
“We’re back,” Tricia called as she hung Sarge’s leash on a peg.
“What took you so long?” Angelica called. “I was beginning to worry.”
Tricia walked back to the kitchen, with Sarge trotting along behind her. “Sarge and I ran into Chauncey.” At the sound of his name, the dog sat down at his mistress’s feet and gave a yip of acknowledgment.
“And what did he have to say?”
“Not much. Did I tell you he was planning on voting for you?”
“No, but I’m glad to hear it.” Angelica got up from her stool, and Sarge immediately stood at attention. “Come on. Let’s go to the inn.”
“I thought you didn’t want to go out,” Tricia said.
“I didn’t. But I changed my mind.”
Tricia gave her sister a suspicious look. “Why?”
Angelica shrugged. “I’ve learned to trust you on certain things. Maybe going to the inn tonight you’ll discover something the police have missed. Either that, or you’ll be able to put this behind you and move on.”
“Do you really think I need to move on?” Tricia asked.
Angelica sighed and shook her head. “Of course. But knowing you, it won’t happen until Stan’s killer is revealed.”
“And what if that never happens?”
“Trish, if there’s one thing you’ve become good at these last few years—apart from being an exceptional businesswoman—it’s tracking down killers.”
“You think so?”
“I know so,” Angelica said. She looked down at her dog. “Walkies,” Angelica announced, and Sarge shot to his feet and ran for the door once again.
“You’re not bringing him with us.”
“I’m not going without him. And the Brookview has a nice bit of lawn at the side that Sarge can christen.”
“He just came in,” Tricia protested.
“If there’s one thing dogs are good at, it’s producing urine.”
“Well, just make sure you bring one of your big purses. He’s not allowed at the Brookview.”
“I never travel without one,” Angelica said as she started down the hall. She attached the leash to Sarge’s collar, scooped him up, and stashed him in her big pink purse. “You’d better drive. You’ve had less to drink than me. And I sure don’t want to be charged with a DUI the night before the Chamber election.”
“The inn is barely a half mile away,” Tricia admonished.
“You drive or you go on your own,” Angelica said.
“I’ll drive.”
“Good. Then let’s go. The night is no longer young, and I’ve got a big day ahead of me.”
Tricia took the lead and headed down the stairs, grateful Angelica was willing to indulge her whim. But would she be so tolerant if the evening’s jaunt brought nothing new to light?
She’d just have to wait and see.
*
As expected, the front of the Brookview Inn was lit up like … well, a Christmas tree. After Sarge had indeed christened the side yard and was once again ensconced in Angelica’s purse, they mounted the steps but paused to take in the sight.
“Boy, this place sure looks pretty,” Angelica said in admiration.
“They’ve done a nice, understated, and dignified job of decorating,” Tricia agreed.
Angelica smiled, taking it all in. She might have stood there for another couple of minutes if Sarge hadn’t yipped his displeasure. The poor little guy was probably cold.
The main door to the inn was unlocked—just as it had been during the time when Tricia had stayed there for three weeks while her loft apartment over Haven’t Got a Clue was undergoing renovation. They entered the lobby, which seemed overly warm after being out in the late evening air. Every light in the place seemed to be lit. The Christmas tree glowed. There was no one behind the reception desk, and Tricia held her finger to her lips before beckoning Angelica to follow her down the corridor that led to the handicapped restroom where Tricia had found Stan Berry only four days before.
She looked around, didn’t see any staff or guests, and opened the door. The light and fan immediately went on, but the small room was empty, and her nose wrinkled at the strong smell of disinfectant.
/> “Are you getting any kind of creepy vibes?” Angelica whispered.
Tricia shook her head.
They must have stood there, staring at the immaculate toilet, where Stan Berry had met his untimely end, for at least a minute before the sound of someone clearing his throat caused them to turn in alarm.
“Is there something I can help you ladies with?” Henry Dawson asked.
Tricia turned and felt her knees wobble in relief. “Henry, you just about scared me to death.”
“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I wasn’t expecting to find you ladies here, either.”
“What are you doing working at night?” Angelica said. “I thought your post was in the dining room?”
Henry shrugged. “I do a little of everything around here. As it happens, I had a doctor’s appointment earlier today. I traded shifts with Raul, the guy who works the reception desk at night. That’s the beauty of working for a place like the Brookview. Everyone helps everybody else. We’re like family. Now, what are you two ladies doing here at this time of night?”
Angelica turned to look at Tricia, then back to Henry. “She made me come.”
Tricia’s mouth dropped, but it was true—she had coerced Angelica into accompanying her—so she couldn’t deny it. She closed her mouth and wished her cheeks didn’t feel so hot.
Henry shook his head and smiled, and then he shuffled back to the reception desk. Tricia and Angelica followed. He didn’t speak again until he was behind the counter. “I suppose you’ve got your little dog in that purse,” he said, looking at the pink purse slung over Angelica’s shoulder.
As if on cue, Sarge gave a muffled “Woof!”
“How did you know?” Angelica asked.
“Everybody knows you carry that little guy around in a purse. He’s well behaved, so who’s going to toss you out?”
“I don’t always bring him with me,” Angelica defended herself, but now that the dog was out of the bag, so to speak, maybe she wouldn’t have to try to hide Sarge so often. She set her purse on the floor, opening the top. Sarge’s fluffy head immediately popped out and he stuck out his pink tongue, panting for joy.
“I don’t suppose you’re looking to rent a room for the night?” Henry asked with amusement. “Or were you just looking for an empty restroom?”
“You caught us,” Tricia admitted it. “We only came—”
“To gawk at the scene of the murder?” Henry asked.
“I never gawk,” Angelica said in deadly earnest.
“Neither do I,” Tricia echoed.
Henry nodded. “Doing a little casual investigating, then?”
“You never know. The police might have overlooked something,” Tricia said, although without real conviction.
Henry nodded solemnly. “That’s true.”
Angelica rested both elbows on the reception counter and looked up at Henry. “You’ve worked here at the Brookview for a long time—”
The older man puffed out his chest in pride. “I’ve got a certificate with beautiful calligraphy that proclaims I’m the longest employed person not related to the Baxter family, who owned the inn since 1897, to have ever worked here. Forty-two years. I hope to make it another forty-two years, as well,” he said and chuckled. The man had to be in his early seventies.
“You must know an awful lot of secrets about the inn,” Angelica said. “Care to part with a few of them?”
“Then they wouldn’t be secrets,” Henry said, straight-faced.
Angelica smiled and nodded. “I guess you’re right.”
“But surely there’s a lot of history you can talk about,” Tricia said. “For instance, before Friday, had there ever been a murder here in the inn?”
Henry looked uncomfortable, but nodded. “Back in 1902. It seems a few of the guests had gathered in the front parlor—what is now the guest dining room—for a friendly game of poker. At least, it started out friendly. One of the players was accused of cheating. He denied it, but an argument broke out. Someone pulled out a gun and shot the man.”
“Good heavens,” Angelica said, appalled.
Henry nodded. “The poor fellow was taken to his room where he died of his injuries several hours later.”
“Which room was that?” Tricia asked.
“No record was kept of it. The management of the time was afraid no one would want to stay in a room where someone had died—especially a violent death.”
“Is the inn haunted?” Angelica asked, her eyes wide.
“I’ve never seen a ghost, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t one,” Henry said.
“I’m sure a lot of people would love to spend the night in a haunted inn,” Angelica said.
“That’s why our previous management never said so either way, just in case.”
“And the current management?” Tricia prompted.
“I don’t believe the subject has ever come up,” Henry admitted.
“Does anyone on staff have a theory as to what happened on Friday?” Tricia asked.
Henry shook his head, his forehead furrowing. “Everyone on staff has an alibi. We don’t know about the Chamber of Commerce members. We’re putting our faith in the new Stoneham police force. That Chief Baker seems quite a competent fellow. We’re all sure he’ll soon figure out what happened on Friday and bring the guilty person to justice.”
“He is a skilled investigator,” Tricia said.
“I understand you and he are no longer seeing each other,” Henry said.
“Oh?” Tricia said, feigning surprise.
“Yes. Our guest, Mr. Benson, has let it be known that he’s your ex-husband. He’s hinted that a reconciliation is close at hand.” The man sounded positively enthusiastic at the prospect. First Joelle—now Henry had mentioned the dreaded R word.
“I’m afraid Mr. Benson is being overly optimistic,” Tricia said sourly.
“Then I feel very sad. The two of you are such nice people. Nice people deserve to be happy.”
And nice Christopher had broken nice Tricia’s heart by being not so nice—or considerate—when he’d let his own needs surpass those of a wife who’d adored him. But Tricia had no intention of sharing that piece of her once-broken heart with Henry. Instead, she steered the conversation back to the matter at hand. “So what’s the Brookview scuttlebutt about Stan Berry’s murder?”
“None of the workers here at the inn know the majority of Chamber members, except for you two ladies, of course. You’ve both stayed here at the inn for extended periods of time, and none of us believe either of you could have done such a heinous act.”
“Well, thank you very much,” Angelica said and sounded offended.
“If it’s any consolation, Ms. Miles,” Henry said, addressing Angelica, “we’d like to see you become the next president of the Stoneham Chamber of Commerce.”
“And why is that?” Tricia asked.
Henry looked Tricia straight in the eye. “Darlene and I heard your sister’s platform. She gets Stoneham. She understands what needs to be done to take our little village to the next level.”
Wasn’t that exactly how Angelica had explained her intentions?
“And that is?” Tricia asked.
“Where all the locals have a job. Where the tourist dollars pay the upkeep of our infrastructure. Where our kids can get a good education. Where everyone who comes to our fair village will fall in love and want to return again and again.”
“Oh, Henry, that’s exactly what I want to happen. This village is not the place I grew up in, but it has become my hometown. I only want the best for it—and everyone who lives here,” Angelica said, her voice cracking.
Henry’s mouth quirked into a smile. “Then perhaps you should run for a seat on the Board of Selectmen.”
Angelica smiled—and blushed. “You may have something there.”
“Ms. Miles,” Henry asserted, “I am seldom wrong.”
Tricia had to stifle a grin, afraid it might lead to a full belly laugh. “It’s getti
ng late,” she said and consulted her watch. Good grief—it was nearly eleven. “We’ve got a big day ahead of us. We’d better be going.”
A soft “yip” from the vicinity of Angelica’s purse seemed to agree. She picked it up and slung it over her shoulder.
“Thank you for talking with us,” Tricia said. “And not reporting us.”
“Report you?” Henry said.
“Yes, to—”
Once again, another throat was cleared behind them, and Tricia and Angelica turned to find Antonio standing in the lobby, his suit coat missing, his tie askew, a more-than-five-o’clock shadow darkening his chin and cheeks, and his expression decidedly unhappy.
“Ladies, how may I be of service?”
“Uh-oh,” Angelica intoned, once again playing ventriloquist.
“Hello, Antonio,” Tricia said, trying to sound cheerful. “How are you this evening?”
“I am fine. Why are you here so late?”
“We’re visiting Henry,” Angelica said quite cheerfully.
“Henry does not usually work the evening shift,” Antonio said. He looked a lot taller than Tricia had ever remembered him being. And, to be honest, a teensy bit annoyed.
“Is that so?” Angelica asked.
“Yes.”
“Well, then wasn’t it lucky we found him here.”
“And why did you wish to consult with Henry?” Antonio demanded. “It is very late.”
“Oh, sure, yeah,” Angelica said. “We were wondering if—”
“The inn was haunted,” Tricia finished.
“Yes. We were,” Angelica quickly agreed.
Antonio looked skeptical. “Of course the inn is haunted. It is an old building.” He threw his hands up in the air. “Okay, it is old for this country. Not like in Italia where some buildings are thousands of years old and still in use—and in better shape than many I have seen here in America.”
“Have you ever seen a ghost here?” Tricia asked.
Antonio shook his head. “But several of our guests swear they have seen them walking down the corridors late at night.”
“Them? Man? Woman? Elephant?” Angelica asked.
“It? Them? I do not know for sure. As long as they do not ask for their money back, I am pleased if they enjoy the idea of a ghost.”
Not the Killing Type Page 22
