then the love can lead to heartbreak—or at least a painfully embarrassing apology.
I would have looked for any reason to postpone it. But when, seconds later, a toaster came flying out the window, narrowly missing my head, I wasn’t sure if it was an answered prayer or attempted murder.
CHAPTER 33
Bernie was still alone in the living room, still working on her tumbling blocks quilt. She seemed to want to be alone, to work through her grief over George’s death, which was the only explanation I could come up with for why she seemed so calm while the house shook with screams.
“What’s going on?” I asked her. “Someone just threw something at me out the window.”
Bernie looked up. “Rita.”
“I’m not going to just stand here while she throws things at Joi,” I said. “I brought that woman up here for reconciliation, not a prize fight.”
Bernie stood up. “If you think we should interfere, then we’ll pull them apart if we have to.”
Several people came out of the dining room, paint rollers still in their hands, offering to help. I pointed out that McIntyre was upstairs and could handle it. But that didn’t stop me. Or Bernie. We ran up the stairs, passing one of the twins on her way down.
“Alice,” I said. “I thought you were in the dining room.”
“The bathroom,” she said. “And it’s Alysse. Easy mistake.”
As she passed I checked again. Though both women were dressed alike, as usual, this twin had the same oil spot on her shirt that I’d seen in the morning on Alice. Or at least that’s what she called herself then. I was about to stop her, when I heard screaming. Alice, or Alysse, didn’t seem to notice or care. She just kept walking out the door.
Bernie and I reached the second floor, where our rooms were. I wondered if McIntyre had gone back to searching Bernie’s room, but there was no time to check. We ran up the stairs to the third floor and Rita’s living quarters.
“Is everything okay?” I threw open the door to find Rita and Joi facing each other. Both women had crossed arms, furrowed brows, and tearstains on their cheeks. “I’m sorry to barge in like this.” I stumbled on my words. “A toaster went out the window, and then we heard screams.”
“I guess we got a bit excited while we were catching up,” Rita said calmly. “We were having a discussion.”
“We were having a fight,” Joi said. “It’s what we do when we’re in the same room. We fight.”
“My daughter and I sometimes disagree,” Rita said. “It’s really a personal matter.”
Joi rolled her eyes. “My father isn’t even buried, and my mother is already making plans for the future. I was always a huge disappointment to her. I wouldn’t let her control me, wouldn’t get in on the family business. But you would think that now we could do something other than yell at each other.”
Bernie pushed past me. “Well, you must learn how. George wouldn’t want to see the two women he loved most in the world fighting. Now, come downstairs and I’ll make some tea, and we’ll all have a nice chat.”
Out of shock, politeness, or lack of a better idea, Joi and Rita followed Bernie out of the room. I thought it was exceedingly generous of Bernie to offer mediation, considering her own feelings about Rita, but mostly I thought it was a stroke of good luck for me. I stayed behind, hoping no one would notice. No one did. Once I was sure they had gone downstairs, I closed the door and took a look around.
Just as Eleanor had described it, the few photos in the room included only one of a very young Joi and several of a smiling George and Rita. They did seem to be a happy couple, but the photo with Joi seemed strained and uncomfortable. I could almost feel the tension between the three, and Joi must have been no more than five at the time. I could only imagine the resentment and ill feelings that had built up among them in the years since.
I turned my back on the photos and checked the desk for bills, letters, anything that might offer some insight into the pair, but there was nothing that stood out. Aside from an electricity bill, a few business cards for the inn, and the newspaper announcing Susanne’s class, the desk drawer was empty.
I walked around, trying to get some sense of George and Rita, but the more I looked, the more the room seemed staged. Though the furniture had a cottage shabby-chic look, on closer inspection it was brand-new. And there wasn’t a lot of it. A couch, two chairs, some assorted end tables, a desk, two bland paintings of the local landscape that looked like ones I’d seen in hotels, a few lamps, and a mini fridge. Plus the space that had once held a toaster. I guess Rita and George didn’t like walking down two flights of stairs when they felt like an English muffin.
“They’ll have to now,” I thought as I looked out the window and saw the broken pieces of chrome on the pavement.
The only thing that struck my eye was on a table near the suite’s door. It was an ornate candlestick that seemed to be the match for the one I’d found on the landing downstairs. Or maybe it was the same one. I’d left it in the kitchen and forgotten about it.
Whatever they had in the way of personal items must have been in the bedroom. Just as it had been when Eleanor was here, the door to the bedroom was locked. I figured it would be too lucky for me to find a key somewhere in the room but I looked anyway. And just as I suspected—no key. There was something very careful about Rita and George, and it was really getting on my nerves. I went back to the desk in search of a knife or letter opener, but there wasn’t one. Probably for the best, I eventually decided. It would be hard to explain scratch marks on the door. I leaned down and peeked through the keyhole and could see a bed, but that was it. Whatever secrets the room held were out of my sight line.
“What are you doing?”
I stood up. I hadn’t even heard the door open. “Looking,” I said. “What are you doing?”
Jesse walked into the room and closed the door behind me. “Looking for you. I was going to apologize. I don’t want us to be angry with each other.”
“Apology accepted.”
“I haven’t actually done it yet.”
“You were going to. You just said you were going to,” I said. “And I’m sorry too. I should have told you about Joi. I guess I’m just used to you being annoyed at me for interfering. I have to get used to this new you.”
“It’s a little new for both of us,” he said.
“Look, I know I didn’t really give you a chance to explain about Bernie. I guess I was upset about the blouse.”
Jesse took a step forward. “I want you to know that I considered asking Bernie if we’d find anything in her room.”
“Considered,” I repeated.
“I can’t protect a killer.” He put his hand up to stop what he must have imagined, correctly, were the next words out of my mouth. “I’m an officer of the law, whether I’m in Archers Rest or not. And besides, it never occurred to me that McIntyre would find anything.”
“I know. That’s the hardest part of this whole thing. It’s like Bernie is trying to self-destruct.”
“We won’t let her.” He sounded so reassuring that I almost felt convinced. He took another step toward me and the door to Rita’s bedroom. “What are you doing?’
“Trying to figure out how to get into that room.”
“Is that Rita’s bedroom?” Jesse asked. He walked past me and glanced at the lock. “It looks simple enough, but I couldn’t get in without damaging the door, and that really is out of bounds. Have you looked for a key?”
“There’s nothing.”
“Letter opener?’
“Nothing.”
“I don’t suppose you carry around a lock pick for just such an occasion. All the professional burglars have them.”
I smiled. “Not yet, Officer. But it would make a great birthday gift.”
He nodded. “It sounds like you’ve searched the place, so let’s get out of here before Rita finds us.” Jesse took my hand and led me to the door to the suite.
“But the answer is i
n her bedroom. It has to be.”
“Then we’ll have to look another time.”
Reluctantly, I followed him out of the room. As I did I took one more look back. Something in that room nagged at me I just couldn’t figure out what it was, and I didn’t know if I’d ever get another chance to find out.
CHAPTER 34
By the time Jesse and I walked outside, Chief McIntyre had arrived with several men with shovels, as promised. They followed us to the area where Barney had uncovered the dog’s paw, but there was no paw sticking out from the dirt.
“Somebody could have covered him up again,” I offered.
McIntyre nodded. “Maybe. Maybe you have the wrong spot.”
“It’s obvious the ground has been disturbed, so someone was digging here. Do people hike or hunt through here?” Jesse said.
“Not often,” McIntyre replied. “It’s pretty remote up here. Not the best hunting, though some of the locals like it. Once in a while, you get a hiker whose gone off course, and sometimes lovers come in here looking for a bit of privacy.”
I looked toward the tree where George had been found, covered by Bernie’s beautiful quilt, and I thought of what he and Bernie might have been doing here only a few days before. A buried dog seemed like a pretty small mystery compared to what happened that day.
“It was a pretty shallow grave,” I said. “So even covered up, it shouldn’t take too long to find him.”
McIntyre’s men began digging, going farther and farther until they had created a hole about three feet deep. But there was no dog.
“I swear it was here,” Jesse said.
“Maybe if I got Barney,” I suggested. “He found it before. He’s been sniffing this whole area.”
“But it was here,” Jesse said again. “Right here at this spot. I know it seems ridiculous, but I’m used to paying attention at crime scenes and I remember the knot on this tree and the fact that I stood right in this position and saw the murder victim.”
“In my experience dead dogs don’t move,” McIntyre said.
“But . . . ,” Jesse started, then stopped. “Maybe I’m wrong,” he said reluctantly. “Nell, do you think it was somewhere else?”
I looked around. “I would have said it was here too, but after we saw George, I forgot about the dog,” I admitted. “It’s just . . . I think Jesse is right about it having been in this spot. Anyway, why would someone just dig a hole and fill it in?”
Jesse turned the corners of his mouth into a slight smile. I nodded back to show that I hadn’t just been offering support. I really believed he was right.
McIntyre watched us both, then nodded. “Someone must have unburied him and put him somewhere else.”
Jesse turned to me. “Would Pete have done it? He was with us when we found the dog.”
“Doesn’t make sense,” I said. I walked a few feet from the tree and noticed another spot where the leaves seemed out of place and the ground disturbed. “Maybe here,” I suggested.
McIntyre crouched down and picked up the leaves. “These are dirtier than the rest. Like someone picked up shovelfuls of dirt and dumped it, leaves and all, right here.”
The men began digging in the new spot with a renewed enthusiasm, as Jesse, McIntyre, and I watched from a few feet away. The longer it went on, the more unsure I became. Even if someone had moved a dead dog, what did it have to do with George’s death? I was beginning to feel a bit silly for having even brought it up, when one of the men shouted, “Got something.”
“It’s a hunting dog,” McIntyre said after examining the dead animal. “Looks like it’s been dead more than a week. But there is good news. It has a collar.” He pulled off the collar and held it in front of me.
I read the tag. “Frank’s dog. I didn’t know his dog was missing.”
“Neither did I,” McIntyre said. “Two other folks reported missing dogs, Pete and a man who lived down the road, but not Frank.”
“Then maybe the dog died and Frank buried him here,” I said.
“Not his property,” McIntyre pointed out. “You might hike through another man’s woods but you don’t bury your animals there.”
“And he didn’t die of natural causes,” Jesse said. He was kneeling beside the dog, pointing to a wound on its side.
“Looks like he was shot,” McIntyre said. “Boys, get him loaded into a truck, and we’ll take him into town.”
“Do you think there could be other dogs buried here?” I asked.
“Maybe,” Jesse said. “We probably should get Barney to sniff it out.”
McIntyre wiped sweat from his large brow. Though he hadn’t actually done any physical work, it seemed the police chief was exhausted. “You folks do that and I’ll get the local vet to take a look at this dog’s remains.”
After McIntyre left, Jesse went back to the spot we had originally dug. “I don’t mean to sound like a broken record, but that dog was right here.”
“Like McIntyre said, somebody moved him,” I said.
“It’s just weird,” he said.
“Everything about this place is weird.”
It was getting dark on our way back to the inn, but Jesse didn’t seem in much of a hurry. Instead he kept picking up sticks, snapping them in two, and throwing the pieces at the dirt.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Thinking.” He broke a stick then threw the parts at a tree. “We’re missing something.”
“The name of the killer.”
“Aside from that.”
“We’re missing the reason why George wanted Bernie to come here. Maybe he was going to leave Rita, maybe not. It’s weird how split people are about the kind of couple they were,” I said. “And we’re missing the connection between a dead dog and George’s murder.”
“If there is any,” Jesse added.
“Right. We’re also missing the whole point of the bed-and-breakfast. Joi seems to think it’s completely out of character for her parents. And not just her mother. She said her ‘parents.’ ”
“Did she seem surprised to hear that her dad was dead?”
I stopped. “You don’t think she had something to do with it?”
“Maybe.” Jesse shrugged. “They have a lot of money. She’s their only child. She inherits.”
“If both her parents are dead.”
“So she’s halfway to her goal.”
“You’re crazy,” I said.
“If you’re sure . . .”
“I’m sure. I think I’m sure. She’s a nice woman. She wouldn’t kill her parents.”
As I said the words, I started to run back to the inn just to be absolutely certain I was right.
CHAPTER 35
After what Jesse said, I was half expecting to find another dead body, but instead all the lights of the inn were on, and people from the class and the folks from town who had been helping, as well as at least a dozen others, were wandering in and out of the building. Eleanor was standing with a small group I didn’t know, holding coffee and looking a little confused.
“Are they throwing a party?” Jesse asked as we approached the front steps.
“A wake,” Eleanor answered. “They’ve finished with the living room and dining room, and now, apparently, they’ve invited some friends over to celebrate George’s life.”
“When did this happen?” I asked.
“It was sort of a spontaneous decision. Joi and Rita suggested it.”
“That means they’re getting along,” I pointed out. “And what about Bernie? She was with them the last time I saw her.”
“She thought it was a great idea,” Eleanor said, a tone of disapproval in her voice. “I know a man’s life ought to be celebrated, but he was murdered. And only two days ago.”
“And probably by someone at this party,” I added.
“Exactly,” she said. “Seems a bit early in the grieving process to be dancing.” She pointed toward a young couple on the lawn, swaying to the music, oblivious to anyone aroun
d them.
Susanne walked out the door of the inn, holding a glass of wine. “Nell and Jesse, if you’re hungry you should go now. The food is disappearing very fast. That lovely woman who owns the bakery brought some cookies, but I think they’re already gone.”
“You seem to be enjoying yourself,” I said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drink before.”
She handed me the glass and leaned in. “Don’t touch the stuff. It’s part of my cover story. I have so much to tell you.” She looked around before apparently deciding it was safe to continue. “I noticed one of the twins wandering around and I followed her. Odd, that’s what those two women are. Don’t twins stop dressing alike after they turn five?”
“You followed her . . . ,” I said to get Susanne back on track. She enjoyed tangents, mostly when she was leading to good gossip, and I sensed there was some pretty good gossip coming up.
“Yes,” she answered. “She was opening cabinets and drawers in the kitchen. Can you imagine? She turned around and caught me watching her, and I had to come up with a story. So I told her I was looking for wine.” She caught her breath. “Then she walked me downstairs to a little wine cellar and grabbed a few bottles. As if she owned the place.”
“She knew where it was?” Jesse asked.
“Exactly where it was.”
I left Jesse on the porch and walked inside to see how the others were celebrating George’s life or, for the one who had killed him, his death. Joi was in the living room in deep conversation with Bernie. Helen and one of the twins were putting food out in the dining room, and Pete was talking to a pair of men I didn’t recognize. Rita was the only person I didn’t see at the party. While I was trying to decide where to go first, Susanne came up behind me.
The Double Cross Page 16
