by Tim Myers
Mor looked around the lobby, and when he saw it was deserted, he asked, “Where’s your resident snoop? Evans isn’t actually out in the real world, is he?”
Alex laughed. “You’re not going to believe this. He’s taking a tour of Europe with Ham Roberts. He’s over there right now planning it all.”
Mor said, “I’ve seen everything now. Les isn’t going to believe me when I tell him tomorrow.” Les was the older part of the partnership of Mor or Les. The two handymen kept most of Elkton Falls running while forming a deep friendship, though neither man would admit it under knifepoint.
Mor nudged Jefferson’s bag with his toe. “So what did you find in there? Were there any clues?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Alex said as innocently as he could manage. “It’s just his clothes and toiletries.”
“Don’t play that game with me, bucko. I know you’re not about to let a perfectly good opportunity to snoop get past you.”
Alex shrugged in admission. “For all the good it did me. That man barely made an impression on the room. It was almost as if a ghost had stayed there.”
Mor said, “Maybe you’ve got one around here now. Have you given that any thought?”
“What are you jabbering about, Mor?”
The big man had an odd expression on his face. “You know what they say, Alex. Ghosts hang around after a violent death, and getting skewered is about as violent as it gets.”
Alex snorted at his friend’s serious tone. “Who knows? Maybe a ghost or two will help business. I can put it in my brochures.”
Mor laughed. “Alex, you’re an innkeeper through and through, aren’t you?”
“It’s in my blood. Listen, do you have anything pressing planned for today?”
“No, this is the last place on my list to look for Emma. I’m not sure what to do now.”
Alex asked, “How would you like to do me a favor, then?”
“What’s the matter, does the septic system need to be cleaned out?”
“No, this is easy. Hang around here a couple of hours by the front desk and answer the telephone for me. My guests are all gone now that the crafters have left, and the next group isn’t scheduled until tomorrow, but I’m expecting a call from a travel agent who’s promised to book the entire inn for a full week this autumn.”
“Why can’t you put your answering machine on for that?”
“Because she’s not going to want to use Hatteras West if she thinks I’m an absentee innkeeper. Listen, if it’s a problem, I’ll hang around myself.”
Mor picked up a magazine and said, “No, I’ll take care of it. I need to have a talk with Emma anyway, and she’s as likely to show up here as anywhere I could look.”
Alex wasn’t about to open that hornet’s nest if he could help it. “Thanks, man, you’re the best. I’ll be back in a few hours.”
After Alex loaded all of the luggage in the cab of his old gray Ford pickup, he drove toward town, glancing back at the lighthouse as he went. The structure stood there as a constant, a landmark in his life, always watching over him. Somehow its presence made him feel safe. Too bad it hadn’t helped Jefferson Lee or Marilynn Baxter.
Alex’s first stop was the hospital. He wanted to check on Marilynn’s condition, and the luggage he was carrying would give him the perfect excuse to be there.
He asked a volunteer at the front desk wearing a name tag that said Bob about Marilynn. The man tapped a few keys on the computer and directed him to the Intensive Care Unit.
Alex found Craig Monroe there looking a hundred years older than he had the day before. Was it worry or guilt that had aged him overnight?
“How’s she doing?” Alex asked.
Craig looked surprised by his presence, lost in his own thoughts. “No change. Alex, I’ve been meaning to ask you, what were you doing up in our room, anyway? Not that I’m not grateful,” he added hastily.
“I was doing my daily cleaning. When no one answered my knock, I used my passkey.”
Craig pushed. “Alex, did she say anything at all the whole time you were there?”
What an odd question! Alex was just about to answer when he saw Sheriff Armstrong strolling down the hallway. “Hey there, Alex. Got a second?”
“Hang on, Sheriff, I’ll be right with you.” He turned back to Craig. “I’ve got your bags with me in my truck. Where would you like them?”
The potter said, “Why don’t we head over to my house together, and you can help me carry everything inside.”
“Don’t you need to be here with your wife?” Alex asked pointedly.
“Yeah, I suppose you’re right. Alex, I still need to talk to you later.”
“Not a problem,” Alex said as he walked down the hall with Armstrong. There had been an edge and an urgency to Monroe’s request that Alex didn’t like. He promised himself that if he did have another talk with the potter, he was going to make darn sure it was in a well-lit place with lots of other people around.
Alex asked Armstrong, “Are you here investigating what happened to Marilynn Baxter?”
The sheriff shook his head. “Nope. From what I hear, there’s nothing to investigate. She tried to kill herself. Whether she succeeds or not is still up in the air. I had to swing by the hospital to check on a drunk driver from NewCon. Some guy got a snoot full, then decided to go joyriding in Elkton Falls. Why he didn’t stay there and be Dave Wooster’s headache, I’ll never know.”
“I don’t know how to put this, but I’m not so sure Marilynn Baxter tried to kill herself.”
Armstrong grabbed Alex’s arm and led him to an alcove nearby. “Alex, do you have any facts to back up that wild talk?”
“Nothing for sure.” He hesitated telling the sheriff that his gut reacted strongly to Craig Monroe’s attitude about his wife.
The sheriff grimaced. “Alex, don’t go spreading this around Elkton Falls. I’ve got enough trouble on my hands without you adding to it. I understand the lady’s been depressed lately. It happens more often than you and I would ever imagine.”
“Where did you hear that she was depressed?” Alex asked.
“Why, her husband told me himself. He would know if anybody would, don’t you think? After all, he lived with the woman.”
Not exactly a reliable source at the moment, Alex thought to himself. Before he could voice his suspicions that Craig Monroe might have had something a little more active to do with his wife’s current condition, the sheriff said, “Alex, I’ve seen that look in your eyes before. Drop this, you hear me? If you want something to do, I’ll try to find it for you, but leave this one alone.”
Alex decided to change tactics. “Have you had any luck solving Jefferson Lee’s murder?”
“I’m close to an arrest; that’s all I’ll say.” The smug look on the sheriff’s face was too much for Alex. “I’ll grant you this, you were right about the postcard. I’m almost positive it was connected to the murder.”
“Come on, Sheriff, you’ve got to tell me more than that. Who do you think did it?”
“You’ll find out when the rest of Elkton Falls does, Alex. I’m not about to say anything and have my suspect get wind of it before I can make my arrest.” He held up his hands. “Not that I don’t trust you, but these walls have ears, if you know what I mean.”
Alex suddenly remembered the blacksmith’s bag in his truck. “Sheriff, I’ve got Jefferson Lee’s things from the inn. I was going to run them by your office, but you can get them now, if you’d like.”
“I’ve already been through all of it, Alex.” The sheriff scratched his chin, then said, “Tell you what. It couldn’t hurt to check them out again, so why don’t we walk out together, and I’ll have another look. Who knows, there might be something that will help my case.”
After the sheriff had gone through Jefferson’s bag outside, he said, “I just don’t get it, Alex. His house is the same way. You can barely find a personal thing in the whole place. I mean it was creepy. Th
ere were no photographs, no collections on display, the man barely made a dent in his own home. I just can’t imagine living like that.”
“So, what happens now?”
“I’ll take this bag over to his house.” The sheriff suddenly had a thought. “Hey, you have a few minutes to spare?”
Alex knew he shouldn’t impose on Mor any more than he had to, but he was intrigued enough to ask, “What did you have in mind?”
“I thought I’d give you a gander at the man’s house and see what you thought yourself. Strictly unofficial, if you follow me.”
“Let’s go,” Alex said eagerly. Maybe he could find something the sheriff and his team had missed.
For once Armstrong hadn’t exaggerated. Jefferson Lee had barely made an impression on his living space. It seemed as if the entire set of furnishings had been ordered from one catalogue, perfectly matched and coordinated. All the proper shades of color and tone blended together until there wasn’t the slightest personal touch or originality in the whole place. Alex wondered if the man’s workshop was the same as the house, and he started to ask the sheriff if he could peek inside the outbuilding as well, when a sudden squawk came from the sheriff’s beeper.
Armstrong checked the number, then called his dispatcher on Jefferson’s telephone.
“Yeah, you just paged me. What’s up?”
There was a pause, then he said, “I’ll be right there.”
“What happened?” Alex asked as the sheriff hung up the phone.
“There’s a wreck out on Highway 127. Some joker with a Jet Ski on his trailer was headed for the lake, and it slipped off the back end. Smacked right into a hearse, and now nobody can get through. I need to head out there pronto. Listen Alex, I hate to do this to you, but can you get back to the hospital on your own? It’s a good four miles out of my way, and they need me out there right now.”
“I’ll be fine,” Alex said. “Do you want me to lock up when I’m done here?”
Armstrong looked as if he’d assumed Alex would leave with him, but he was obviously in too big a hurry to stand there and debate the fact with him.
“Just pull the door shut when you’re done, and don’t let anybody else in, okay?”
Alex agreed, and as the sheriff headed for the door, he added, “Alex, if you find anything, you call my office right away, you understand?”
“I promise,” Alex said as the sheriff took off.
Now maybe he could do a little snooping of his own.
An hour later, Alex was no closer to finding anything inside Jefferson’s house than he had been when he’d first come in. How in blazes could the man live like that? Alex only hoped the shop would yield something, any clue as to why Jefferson Lee was murdered.
The key to Jefferson’s shop hung on a Shaker peg by the doorway. Alex knew the blacksmith’s building, with its roaring fires and blackened soot, had to be separate from the house, and he was glad he’d spotted the neatly labeled key as he walked back to the modern shop.
It turned out that Alex hadn’t needed the key, after all.
Someone had beaten him to the search, and from the look of the place, they hadn’t been too careful disguising their presence there. He was certain the sheriff would never have wrecked the shop in his investigation, nor would he have left it like that without saying something to Alex about it.
As Alex headed back inside to phone the sheriff’s office, he wondered if the thief had found what he’d been looking for.
Chapter 17
Alex called the sheriff’s office and spoke with one of Armstrong’s deputies, a young man named Dave Jeffries. Alex had known Dave all of his life. He’d been coming out to the lighthouse with his family since he was a small boy, and he’d always tried to convince Alex to light the beacon for him, even if he was visiting at high noon.
The deputy asked him to hang around until he could get there, and Alex readily agreed.
After he hung up the phone, Alex walked back to the shop to have a look around before Dave arrived.
Instead of the old-fashioned equipment Alex had been expecting to see in the shop, he found huge steel machines outfitted with wicked-looking attachments spread all through the blacksmith’s shop. It appeared that the quaint equipment Jefferson had set up at the fair had been more for the exhibition than for his daily work. Alex wasn’t all that surprised.
The floor of the shop was littered with a thousand papers. Was there a key in all that mess to Jefferson’s murder, or had the killer taken a piece of evidence after disposing of the man himself? Alex saw bills, plans, even correspondence with other blacksmiths discussing things like power hammers and a host of other topics Alex didn’t understand, but nothing that might point to the murderer.
“Find anything good in there?”
Alex didn’t know how long he’d been looking, but he was startled to hear the voice. He looked up from his squatting position to see the young deputy standing in the doorway. There was a smile on Dave’s narrow face and an easy way about him that Alex had always liked. Armstrong’s uniform was in constant need of expansion, but Dave’s was as neat and tailored as the day he’d first put it on.
“Hey, Dave. I was just—”
“Snooping again, Alex? Hey, I’m not the one in our department who has a problem with that. As far as I’m concerned, you can look all you want, as long as that’s all you do.” He looked at the papers strewn on the floor. “Now that is one major mess. You didn’t touch anything, did you?”
Alex shook his head. “I know better than that. I’ve just been doing some light reading.”
Dave stroked his chin. “I wonder if they found what they were looking for.”
“I was just thinking the same thing.”
The deputy said, “Alex, thanks for calling this in, but you’d better take off. I talked to the sheriff on the way over here, and he’s heading back just as soon as he can clear up that accident.” Dave grinned. “From the sound of it, he’s a little unhappy that you found this break-in instead of him. It wouldn’t hurt to keep a low profile for the next few hours, if you know what I mean.”
Alex nodded. “Thanks. I just have to use the phone inside; then I’ll take off.”
“I’ll be right here,” the deputy said, still staring at the mess on the floor.
Alex needed to telephone the inn. He felt a little uneasy using the dead man’s phone, as if he were intruding. It was the oddest feeling.
It took seven rings before Mor finally picked up.
Alex said, “I almost gave up on you.”
“This isn’t a great time, Alex. Emma and I are in the middle of something.”
Alex didn’t want to know any of the details. He had enough on his plate as it was.
“Did that travel agent phone?” he asked quickly.
“No, you’re the first call I’ve had. Listen, take your time getting back. It looks like we’re going to be a while.”
Alex hung up, forgetting for a moment that he’d called Mor with the intent of getting a ride back to his truck.
That was out of the question now. His stomach growled, and Alex realized he’d skipped lunch again. It wasn’t that he wasn’t hungry, but he’d grown accustomed to eating with Elise at the inn, and without her to remind him, Alex had a tendency to work right through the noonday meal.
Buck’s Grill was close enough to walk to, and after grabbing a bite to eat, Alex was fairly certain he’d be able to find someone to give him a lift back to his truck. It was the other side of the coin to small town life. Everybody always seemed to know everybody else’s business, but they were also willing to help out at the drop of a hat when they were needed.
It was one of the many pluses that made the few minuses worthwhile.
The crowd at Buck’s had thinned considerably, and Alex didn’t have any trouble grabbing a seat at the counter. Elise always liked to sit in a booth when they ate at the diner, but Alex liked to be near the griddle, where the action was. In all honesty, he kind of missed th
e playful debate with her about where to sit.
Buck’s daughter Sally Anne was wiping the counter as Alex sat down. Instead of the typical teasing he normally got from her, Sally Anne gave him a sympathetic smile as she put a large glass of iced tea in front of him and quickly filled a small pitcher with more of the same.
“Would you like your usual?” she asked softly.
Alex nodded. “How about some extra fries with that today? I’m really hungry.”
She nodded, scribbled his order on her pad, then called out to her father in back, “Dad, order up.”
She took her rag and cleaned the spot just beside him, one that was already gleaming. “Alex, I’m so sorry. You must be crushed.”
He finished a sip of the wonderful sweet tea and said, “I hate to see anyone murdered, but if it had to happen, I’d rather it wasn’t at Hatteras West.”
“I’m not talking about the murder, Alex; that’s old news. It’s got to be hard, what with Elise packing up and leaving you in the middle of all this mess.”
“Sally Anne, she’s visiting family. There was a medical emergency.”
The young waitress nodded knowingly. “I understand, Alex. Listen, you’ve always been a good friend to me. If you need to talk or anything, give me a call, okay?”
Though her sentiment was misplaced, Sally Anne did have a good heart. Besides, he was tired of denying the rumors.
“Thanks, Sally Anne, I’ll keep that in mind.”
She patted his hand and smiled softly. “You do that, Alex. I’m here for you if you need me.”
The bell in the kitchen rang, and in a moment Alex found his club sandwich in front of him. Buck had really laid on the fries, and Alex dove in.
Buck came out as Alex took the second bite of his sandwich.
“How goes it, Alex?” he asked in a gruff voice that matched his muscular frame.
Buck was a former Golden Gloves boxing champion, with the meaty build and broken nose to prove it. When he spoke, it was always more of a growl than mere words.
