by Tim Myers
A thought suddenly occurred to him. Maybe there was something in Jefferson’s room that would give Alex a handle on who had killed him. It was time to honor his word to Shantara and see if he could uncover who had murdered Jefferson Lee.
Alex felt like a ghoul and a burglar creeping into the room of the dead man. He knew the sheriff wouldn’t approve of his snooping, even though Alex could probably justify his presence in some capacity as the innkeeper.
Jefferson Lee was as neat in private as the image he showed the world. His clothes were carefully folded in the Shaker-style dresser Alex’s grandfather had built, and his toilet articles in the bathroom were arranged in an orderly fashion on the countertop. It was almost as if Jefferson had known he was going to die and hadn’t wanted anyone to judge him by the condition of his room. Alex had once had an aunt who always cleaned her house meticulously before going on vacation, just in case something happened to her while she was traveling. The irony was that she’d died when she slipped in the tub while cleaning it just before going on safari.
Alex was just about to open the writing desk drawer when the door behind him flew open. He felt his heart hammer in his chest until he saw Elise standing in the doorway.
“I thought I’d find you here.”
“Come in and shut the door,” Alex whispered fiercely. “I don’t want anybody to know I’m in here.”
Elise stepped inside and closed the door behind her. In a gentle voice, she said, “I thought you were staying out of this.”
“I promised Shantara I’d dig around a little,” Alex explained.
“Why is she so concerned about Jefferson Lee’s murder?”
“She feels responsible,” Alex said as he opened the drawer.
There were a few of the standard room postcards with The Hatteras West Inn on them, the beacon shining out into the Foothills night. Alex was about to shut the drawer when he noticed that one of the postcards had writing on it.
He carefully pulled the card out of the drawer by its edges and read the note printed in block letters nearly pressed through the paper: “MEET ME AT NEW BUILDING SITE TONIGHT. URGENT.”
With a sudden sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Alex realized that he was probably holding the lure that had been used to lead Jefferson Lee to his death.
“Alex, you shouldn’t have touched that; it’s evidence,” Elise said.
“I was careful, I picked it up by its edges. Elise, you always put fresh postcards in the rooms, don’t you?”
“Every day, without fail. That card was meant for Jefferson Lee. Alex, you know you can’t keep it. It’s evidence.”
Alex started to slip it back into the drawer, then decided to leave it out in the open, just to be certain Armstrong would see it. “I’m not about to take it. I’m not sure it will do anybody any good; block lettering is almost impossible to trace. Anybody could have gotten the postcard; the inn’s full of them. I’ve even got a ton of them in the lobby and in town for people to take.”
“At least we know the murder was premeditated,” Elise said softly.
Alex answered, “I’m not sure Armstrong’s going to see it that way. To him, this could mean anything. It could have been about a lover’s rendezvous or even an appointment for a business meeting.”
Elise shook her head. “I don’t think so, and you don’t, either. Why would somebody print in block letters if their intent was innocent?”
“Hey, I agree with you. I think the killer wrote it, too.” He studied the card another moment, then said, “You know, I’d really like a copy of this. Do you think I’d be risking too much taking it downstairs and making a photocopy?”
“Alex, I wouldn’t try it,” Elise said gravely.
“It might come in handy,” he said stubbornly, pulling out his handkerchief and picking the card up carefully by the edges. “I’ll have it back here before anyone knows it was ever gone.”
Elise looked doubtful, but Alex was determined not to let the clue, or at least a copy of it, get away from him.
As they hurried down the stairs to the office, Craig Monroe, one of the potters, met them halfway up.
Monroe said, “We need some old towels if you’ve got them. Somebody’s walked off with some of ours, if you can believe it.”
Alex hid the postcard behind his back as Elise said, “Why don’t you come with me to the storage closet, and I’ll see what we’ve got.”
As Elise slipped past Alex, their eyes met for an instant. The warning in her glance was clear.
Alex carefully closed the door to his office and made three copies of the note, blowing one up to twice its normal size, just in case there was something he’d missed. The first copy he made was skewed, with part of the “URGENT” cut off, and Alex chucked it into the trash can after adjusting the card properly on the copier glass.
He had a horrible time finally getting the card off the glass of the copier without smudging any fingerprints that might be there, but it finally lifted off.
Alex’s foot was on the top stair when he noticed that the door to Jefferson Lee’s room was standing ajar. He knew he’d locked it carefully behind him a few minutes before.
It looked like Alex wasn’t the only one conducting an investigation.
Chapter 6
Alex nearly dropped the postcard when he saw Sheriff Armstrong standing at Jefferson Lee’s writing desk, Elise a step behind him.
He tried to slip the card back onto the dresser when Armstrong swung around.
“What the devil’s going on here, Alex?” the sheriff asked.
“What are you talking about?” Alex replied, slipping the card behind his back before the sheriff had a chance to spot it.
“You know full well what I’m talking about.” Armstrong glared silently at him, and for a moment, Alex almost started to bring the postcard from behind his back when the sheriff continued, “I can’t believe you put that she-dog on my tail, Alex. I thought we were friends.”
“We are,” Alex said.
“Well, you have a strange way of showing it,” Armstrong said. “Sandra Beckett is the toughest bulldog in the pen.”
“Bill Yadkin had to have somebody watching out for him, Sheriff. You know that as well as I do.”
Armstrong replied, “Does it have to be Sandra? That woman is one purely vile thorn in my tail.” He turned to Elise and said, “Pardon me for my language, Elise.”
She smiled broadly at him. “Don’t hold back on my account.”
Alex said, “If you two will excuse me, I’ve got an inn to run.” Now what was he going to do with that blasted postcard?
Elise saw that Alex was in a dilemma about the evidence he was concealing. She moved to the window and said, “Sheriff, what’s going on out there?”
Armstrong joined her there, and Alex made his move. In less than two seconds, he had the postcard back into the drawer and had joined them at the window.
Armstrong blustered, “I don’t see anything,” as he looked out at the mass of people milling around the fair.
“I must have been mistaken. I thought I saw somebody fighting in the crowd. I guess I’m a little jumpy, with the murder and all.”
The sheriff patted her shoulder. “Elise, it’s perfectly understandable.” He turned back to the desk and said, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to get back to work.”
“Where’s Irene? Shouldn’t she be dusting for prints?” Alex asked.
“She’s up to her hips in some woman’s perm. Who knows how long that can take. Irene promised me she’d be out directly. In the meantime, I’m having a look around on my own.”
Armstrong took out his handkerchief and opened the desk drawer. “What have we here?” he asked as he studied the card Alex had just replaced, holding it carefully by its edges.
Alex looked over his shoulder. “It looks like a note to Jefferson Lee,” he said.
“Now, Alex, there you go jumping to conclusions again. How do you know Jefferson didn’t write this himself? He
could have been planning a little late-night rendezvous and never got a chance to deliver it.”
Elise said, “But if that’s true, how did whoever he was meeting know to show up?”
Armstrong said, “There’s all kinds of ways. Jefferson could have changed his mind about doing it in writing and told the killer face-to-face. Heck, he could have called him up on the phone.”
“But you agree it’s an important clue,” Elise said.
Armstrong nodded. “You bet I do. I’ll have Irene check it for fingerprints as soon as she gets here. You know, it could still help, even if it’s been wiped clean. When I catch whoever killed Jefferson Lee, this could prove it was premeditated.” Armstrong added, “I thought you two had an inn to run. I need to finish this in peace.”
Alex left reluctantly, with Elise close behind. Once they were out in the hallway, Elise said, “I still can’t believe Jefferson wrote that note himself.”
“Fingerprints should prove it one way or another,” Alex said.
“And if there aren’t any?”
Alex said, “Then we’re no worse off than we were before.”
Alex was relieved to find Evans Graile downstairs, nursing a tall glass of iced tea. He had to admit that a part of him had been afraid to go in search of the man, nervous about what he might find.
One thing was certain: Evans was positively addicted to his own personal brew of tea. Before he’d been willing to relocate to the inn during his home’s renovation, he’d insisted on two things: around-the-clock access to the stove and a portable refrigerator to store his tea in for nighttime. Evans was of the old school when it came to making iced tea. He wasn’t interested in microwaves, solar energy, or any other process used to heat the water besides an old-fashioned copper kettle purring away on the range top.
“Alex, care for a glass of tea? It’s going to be a brutal day out later.”
Alex wondered why the man cared. He had barely moved one foot outside of the inn since he’d arrived.
Alex almost brushed the older man off. He had too much to do to stop and chat. But, he reminded himself, he surely wasn’t in the innkeeping business for the money. It was the vast array of people who passed through his door that kept Alex enthused about Hatteras West.
“Maybe just a short one,” Alex said as he took a rocker beside the older man.
“Why, that’s delightful,” Evans said as he reached into the cooler that was always beside him. He pulled out a chilled glass, carefully transferred a few pristine ice cubes into it, then poured Alex a liberal portion of steaming tea from his thermos into the glass.
Alex could hear the ice crack as he took the glass. “That’s the key,” Evans said solemnly. “The tea must remain hot until the last possible moment. When that rich steaming liquid meets the ice, ah, ambrosia.”
Alex took a sip and had to admit it was the best iced tea he’d ever had. It should be, after all the work the man put into his brew.
“Is this ConTea?” Alex asked, trying to hide his smile as he mentioned the brand name.
Evans looked so offended he nearly fell off his chair. “My good sir, I would never use a store-bought blend. Why, I have my tea carefully selected from only the finest...” His words trailed off as he saw the grin on Alex’s face. Evans chuckled softly. “You’re joshing me, of course. Alex, you’re a bigger rascal than your father was, if that’s possible.”
Alex’s father had run the inn before him, and while his dad had joked constantly with his guests and the people from town, his humor was usually in smaller supply with Alex.
Alex took a sip of tea, then said, “Thanks, I take that as a compliment. So, what do you think of our little fair?”
“It’s quite exciting, what with the murder and all. I feel I’m right in the midst of it all here.” In a pleased voice, Evans added triumphantly, “Alex, I believe I know who skewered the blacksmith.”
That certainly got Alex’s attention. “Did you see something, Evans? You need to tell Sheriff Armstrong; he’s getting ready to arrest Bill Yadkin!”
Evans took a sip of tea, then said softly, “Easy, my boy. I have no direct evidence, but I’ve seen the world from this chair these last few days when no one has realized I’ve been watching. You’d be amazed by what I’ve witnessed.”
Alex’s hopes for a solution suddenly deflated. The murder was obviously just a puzzle for the older man to mull over during his massive blocks of spare time.
“So who’s your chief suspect?” Alex asked.
“I’d have to say the sheriff is right this time, Alex.
Young Yadkin and Mr. Lee had a terrible squabble right in front of the inn yesterday as they set up their booths. Their tempers were boiling, I tell you.”
“I don’t know, Evans. I just can’t see Bill Yadkin doing it, but you could be right.”
Evans tapped his glass with a fingernail. “Of course, everyone else saw that argument, too. It could just be a clever ruse to frame young Yadkin. The murderer used one of his pieces to commit the atrocity, didn’t he?”
Alex said, “I’m surprised you’ve already heard about that.”
Evans laughed. “Alex Winston, you’ve lived in Elkton Falls your entire life. I thought you’d be used to the kudzu vine by now. Word spreads faster than the vine itself in summertime,” Evans said as he took another sip from his glass.
Alex finished off the last of his tea and handed the glass back to Evans. “Thanks for the drink. It was excellent, as always.”
“Are you certain you won’t have another sip? There’s plenty, Alex.”
“I’d love to, but I’ve got work to do.”
Evans shook his head slowly. “The harried life of the innkeeper, Alex, leaves little time for reflection.”
Alex patted the man’s shoulder gently as he stood. “You’re preaching to the choir, Evans, but the work has to be done.”
Alex went back to his office to retrieve the copies he’d made of the note he’d found in Jefferson Lee’s room.
With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Alex realized the copies were gone!
Alex knew he’d left them on his desk by the copier in his rush to return the postcard to Jefferson’s room. Why hadn’t he tucked them safely away before he’d gone to return the original? It would have only taken a second or two.
Someone had to have real brass to slip into his office and take the copies. That meant that whoever had done it had most likely spotted Alex going into Jefferson Lee’s room earlier.
Someone at the inn was watching him, and Alex didn’t like it one bit.
Alex was just about to look for Elise when he suddenly realized something. He’d ruined the first copy he’d made, and he’d tossed the skewed sheet into the trash can beside the copier. Alex hurried to the trash and saw that the thief had missed one copy after all. The block letters, at least most of them, were printed firmly on the discarded sheet.
Alex smiled grimly to himself. He still had a copy of the note after all, one the killer didn’t realize he had.
Now how in the world was he going to figure out who had written it? Alex folded the paper carefully in half and walked out to rejoin Evans Graile.
“Evans, did you happen to see anybody going into my office in the last twenty minutes?”
“Why, is something missing?” the older man asked eagerly.
Alex shook his head. “No, I just wanted to know if anybody was looking for me.”
“Not that I saw, Alex, but I must admit I was busily brewing my tea until just a few moments before you joined me.”
“Thanks, anyway,” Alex said as he moved over to the front desk. He spun the guest book around and studied the names of everyone who had signed in recently to see if he could spot any similarities to the handwriting on the note in his hands. A slight chill swept over him when he saw Jefferson Lee’s name written in flowing script. Could the man have printed the letter himself?” Alex just couldn’t bring himself to believe that. As he studied the sign-in book, i
t was impossible to match the block print on his copy with any of the guests’ signatures.
He was just about to give up when a voice nearby caught him by surprise.
“What are you doing, Alex?”
Chapter 7
“It’s just one of my lists,” Alex said as he quickly tucked the folded copy under his arm. “Running an inn, you have to keep lists of all kinds of things to do. Jenny, shouldn’t you be at the fair?” When he saw the expression on her face, he added, “Is something wrong?”
Jenny admitted, “I just can’t believe Jefferson’s gone. It’s finally hitting home. I just had to get away for a few minutes.”
“I’ve heard you two were close.” He watched her carefully for some kind of reaction.
Jenny frowned, her nose crinkling just like he remembered. She said, “That’s not what I mean. Life is truly short, isn’t it? Jefferson and I went out once or twice, but do you want to know the truth, Alex? I never really got over you.” She moved a step closer, and Alex found himself backing into the registration desk.
“I seem to recall you were awfully glad to get rid of me at the time.”
She wasn’t about to let him off that easily. “I was a fool, Alex, and I’m not afraid to admit it.”
Alex couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “How come you never said a word about all this when I went back to Sandra? That didn’t seem to bother you at all.”
Jenny looked him straight in the eye. “It took me this long to realize just how wrong I was,” she said strongly.
“Jenny, I’m truly sorry, but I just can’t.” Alex said, just as Elise walked up with a suitcase in her hand.
She said. “Alex. I’m sorry to interrupt, but we need to talk.”
Alex said quickly. “You’re not interrupting. Elise. We were just discussing Jefferson’s murder.”
Alex couldn’t take his gaze off her bag. Was she leaving?
Jenny looked at Alex intently. “Well, I’d better get back to my booth before Shantara comes hunting for me. She doesn’t want us taking any unscheduled breaks.” She added softly. “Alex, we’ll talk more later.”
