by Dixie Davis
Lori remembered what Ken had asked her: who might have hurt Howard? The police weren’t treating this as an accident at all.
Lori leaned closer to Vera, trying to ignore the smoke. “Have you talked to the police?”
Vera nodded, taking a drag on her cigarette.
“Did they ask you who might have hurt Howard?”
She nodded again. “I hate to say it, but I think it was Clint.”
“Why’s that?”
“Well, he said he was staying here in Dusky Cove, didn’t he?”
Lori glanced around at the motel. It wasn’t terrible, but would a B&B owner want to stay in a place like that when any innkeeper in town would likely offer him a discount?
Maybe Clint couldn’t afford something more expensive than the motel, even with a discount. They’d said he was undercutting their rates, didn’t they?
“I know you were rivals, and Clint was super competitive,” Lori began, “but is that worth killing over?”
“People have killed for less. It’s Clint’s livelihood. Sometimes it feels like it’s his identity, too.”
Lori nodded. The police had believed that she’d killed someone over a threat of leaving a bad review. Being a rival business owner must have seemed like a much better motive, especially to a police chief who’d never gotten over a rivalry of his own.
But the chief hadn’t gone after a rival after the last murder in town. He’d gone after Lori. She craned her neck to look for Walt. He was leaning against a patrol car, his flannel shirt unbuttoned and untucked. His dirty ball cap hid his face. Lori had found the body when her guest died. Had that made her a suspect? Was Walt on the list?
It seemed ridiculous, but so was suspecting her.
After they’d figured out she wasn’t a suspect, though, they’d moved on — to the victim’s husband.
Lori looked to Vera. What had been the alleged motive last time? “Do you have life insurance?” she asked. And immediately kicked herself. Could she sound any more insensitive?
“Yes,” Vera said. “We just changed the provider a few months ago. Upped our coverage.”
Not just life insurance but new life insurance? This was sure to look suspicious to Chief Branson. “That’s not good,” Lori murmured.
“Hm?” Vera looked to her. “It’s not good that we had life insurance?”
“No, it is.” Lori bit her lip. “It’s just that it looks bad for motive.”
Vera’s eyebrows flew up. “Surely you couldn’t possibly think that I — we were together all —” She cut herself off when she realized the truth.
Lori couldn’t vouch for Vera while she was up in her room and Lori was downstairs, cooking and caring for the guests.
That meant Vera had not only motive but no alibi.
Vera twisted from her seat on the stairs. “I didn’t do this,” she said with vehemence. “I couldn’t push him over that railing, and even if I could, why would I do that? He’s my husband.”
Lori nodded quickly. “I know.”
But she also knew that being married to someone could also be the exact reason why you wanted to kill them.
Before they moved the body, the police had Vera move out of the line of sight. Lori and Vera were both grateful for that. Vera said they’d tried to make confirming his identity as minimally traumatic as possible.
Maybe they didn’t suspect her, then. Or maybe they were just decent human beings who wanted to spare a woman’s feelings. Either answer would work for Lori if it protected Vera right now.
The officers herded Lori and Vera over to wait by the cordons where Mitch stood along with the rest of the gawking crowd. They’d attracted a number of business owners on their way to work. Ray from Dusky Card & Gift stood by Mitch, his former son-in-law. Andrea Hopkins, curator of the town museum, held hands with her husband, Curtis, the editor of the town newspaper. Small wonder he’d want to be here. A story this big was too good to delegate to anyone else, though Lori knew they only had maybe a dozen other people on staff.
Of course, this was the second murder in town this year, the second in . . . well, Lori didn’t really know how long. She’d spent most of her life in Charlotte, and murder in a major city was common enough that many cases were relegated to short blurbs buried inside the newspaper. With two million people in that metro area, dozens of murders each year just didn’t make the news.
With three thousand people in Dusky Cove, two murders in six months constituted a catastrophic crime wave.
Lori turned to the closest Dusky Covite, Andrea. “How long has it been since there was a murder here? Before this year.”
The smooth, dark skin of Andrea’s brow furrowed. “A long time,” she murmured back.
Her husband leaned over, his dark eyes serious. “Eight years, I think.”
Andrea and Curtis both cast their gazes toward Mitch and Ray.
Yes, a couple people had mentioned eight years the last time they’d dealt with a murder, and Lori had gathered that had something to do with Mitch and the rivalry with Chief Branson.
Lori checked with her friends again. Curtis and Andrea were definitely staring at Ray, too. Mitch’s former father-in-law.
Could the girl Mitch and Chief Branson had fought over have been murdered?
No wonder the rivalry was still going strong.
Another police officer, Eddie, escorted Walt over as well. Walt had already seen the body, so Lori couldn’t imagine they were trying to protect his delicate sensibilities.
Lori caught Walt’s eye as soon as Eddie turned away and nodded for Walt to move closer to Mitch. Walt shuffled in that direction.
The sight of the two of them together in plaid flannel shirts struck Lori as odd for a split second. Of course Mitch worked for just about everybody in the town. As her knight in a shining toolbelt, Lori always saw him as . . . not rough, but gently rough around the edges. He worked with his hands: strong, capable hands that could fix almost anything. Except this.
Walt, on the other hand, was a different kind of rough altogether — the kind that didn’t hide a hard life of hard living.
“Did either of you see anyone this morning?”
Mitch and Walt shook their heads in unison. “It was quiet by the time I got here,” Walt grumbled.
Or maybe that was just the way he always spoke.
“Any cars you weren’t expecting?”
“Nope.”
“What’s your occupancy?” Lori asked him. Hopefully he wouldn’t have too much professional pride to answer.
“Two rooms booked last night.” He pointed to the rooms at either end of the top floor. Neither by the scene of the accident.
“Either one a Clint?”
Walt shook his head.
“You ever seen Howard before?” Mitch jumped in.
Walt rubbed at his narrow chin covered with salt-and-pepper stubble. “Just at the cookout this week. Friend of yours?” He nodded to Lori.
“He was.” She sighed. If Clint was really staying in town, he had to be at one of the other two B&Bs, the Blue Heron or the Cape Inn. Both of them were at least a fifteen-minute walk.
Not that that was impossible, but why would Clint propose meeting at a motel neither of them were staying at?
Unless he’d planned to murder Howard.
Could their rivalry really run that deep?
Right now, the only people Lori could definitely place at the scene were Howard, the motel guests and Walt.
Maybe she could understand a little why the police had latched onto her as a suspect.
If only they could find out who’d been here. “You wouldn’t happen to have security cameras, would you?” Lori asked.
Walt simply snorted.
She knew it was a long shot, but she had to ask.
Across the lot from where they stood, an empty gurney rolled from the van to the bushes. There to take away Howard.
Not Howard. Howard’s body.
Lori moved back to comfort Vera, and they waited in s
ilence, watching for the return of the gurney.
It felt like years before it rolled back, a figure swathed in a sheet on top. Chief Branson and Dr. Everett slowly but surely walked the gurney to the van.
When the doors slammed shut, Vera buried her face in Lori’s shoulder. Lori wrapped her arms around Vera. It did feel final.
Lori had to know who had done this to her friends.
Lori took Vera back to the Mayweather House and got her settled in her room with a comforting cup of cocoa, then busied herself with putting the donuts and dosants into freezer bags to save for the future.
Future Lori would definitely thank her. And Vera.
Lori wiped down the stainless steel counters, trying not to recall the bits of the argument she’d heard here this morning. The last words Vera and Howard had said to one another.
Unless Vera —
Lori banished that thought from her mind. But that only let the argument she’d overheard rise to the surface. Obviously she didn’t have enough context to understand it, but she could tell Howard and Vera disagreed about some secret they’d kept from Lori and everyone else. Something that would change the way she’d look at them, Howard had said.
Spending a few days with anyone would change the way you saw them, certainly, but what darker secret could be lurking there?
Something dark enough to lead to murder? And if so, who else was involved in this secret? Who knew about it?
Other than Vera.
Lori hated that even her own suspicions kept wandering back to her friend. Without more evidence, there wasn’t much she could do to clear Vera.
The doorbell rang, and Lori dried her hands. She hurried to answer, happy to find Andrea waiting there.
Andrea looked a little less than happy, however.
“Morning,” Lori greeted her. “I like your gold beads.” She pointed at Andrea’s short braids, tipped with red and gold beads instead of her usual black and white.
“Thanks.” Andrea still seemed grim.
“Something the matter?” Lori asked.
“Just . . . worried.”
Lori beckoned her to come inside and led her to the dining room. A dosant and two donuts still sat in the warming dish.
Andrea eyed the dosant even after Lori explained the dish. But when she took a bite, her shoulders dropped at the experience. “Who thought this up?” she asked.
“A baker in Massachusetts,” Lori said. That was all she knew about the dessert’s history, unfortunately. She’d have to learn the rest of the story, because she definitely wanted to serve these again. Or at least eat them again.
“So,” Lori said once Andrea had gotten used to the heavenliness that was the dosant. “What’s got you worried?”
“This is the second time one of your guests has died this year, and I don’t want the police to come after you again.”
After her? Lori’s stomach twisted. “You think they would?”
“Sometimes, once people are convinced you’re bad news . . .” Andrea sighed. “You’re the only suspect.”
Lori could tell from her tone that Andrea meant a more general “you,” and not her specifically. But she also knew that Chief Branson had interrogated Mitch after both murders she’d been around, so letting go of grudges obviously wasn’t the chief’s strength.
“I don’t think the police are looking at me,” Lori said, willing herself not to remember the weekend she’d spent in jail. Definitely not something she was looking to repeat.
“Who do you think they’re looking at?”
Lori couldn’t help but appreciate Andrea’s curiosity. “Well, Howard argued with three people at our convention yesterday, and one of them is staying here in town.”
Andrea leaned in, soaking up the conspiracy theory — or leads for her husband’s story.
“The other two, I’m not sure where they’re staying, but probably in Wilmington.”
Andrea twisted her lips around the bite of dosant in her mouth. “Just those two?” she asked once she’d swallowed.
“Well.” Lori hesitated. “I guess they want to rule out Walt, too.”
“Walt?” Andrea laughed, the beads on her braids clicking together. “Do they really think Walt killed him?”
“I don’t know what they think,” Lori pointed out. “Maybe Curtis should ask them?”
Andrea leaned closer again. “Believe me, he will. Just trying to figure out who he should ask about.”
Lori made a note that not everything she said to Andrea would be private. She definitely couldn’t bring up Vera.
“What about the widow? Was she with you?”
The lie froze in her throat. She couldn’t vouch for Vera. If that got in the paper when she’d told the police something different, the chief would be after her again. “She was in her room.”
Andrea raised her eyebrows and took another bite of dosant.
“So we’re pretty sure about Walt?’
Andrea nodded, blowing little bits of the powdered sugar from the dosant and sending them flying. “He’s lived here all his life. He might seem gruff, but deep down he’s a softy. I’ve seen him give free rooms to people who’ve lost their houses in hurricanes, and I know he plays Santa for his grandkids’ schools out in Hinckley.”
Lori nodded, though they both had to know that a lifetime of good works didn’t prevent an ill-timed instance of rage.
“Plus what would his motive be?” Andrea added.
“That’s the most compelling argument. I can’t think of a single thing. Walt didn’t even know Howard.”
Unless another innkeeper snooping around his place . . . no, even that sounded farfetched.
Good. They could rule out Walt, then.
She wished she could say the same for Vera.
The doorbell rang again, and Lori met Andrea’s eyes. Lori was surprised to find fear there. Real, raw fear.
“The police aren’t looking at you as a suspect,” Andrea said, though it sounded like she was trying to reassure herself at least as much as Lori.
Lori nodded and headed for the door, leaving Andrea with her dosant in the dining room. For the second time that morning, the person on her front porch surprised her, but not because she didn’t belong there.
Krystal Johnston, her guest, stood on the porch. Had she heard the horrible news? “I’m so sorry, but we forgot our key.”
Apparently not. Lori let her into the parlor. She wasn’t about to ruin her guest’s vacation, and she wasn’t looking to talk to more people about her friend’s murder. “You’re lucky you found me at home.” Lori glanced at her watch. She was supposed to be at InnCon right now, but that didn’t look likely for her or Vera today.
“Where’s Joshua?” Lori asked after Krystal’s husband.
“He wanted to get a better look at the river. Again.”
Lori could hardly blame him. “Did you already finish the list from this morning?” she asked.
Krystal laughed. “We rented a canoe and did the trails. So glad we got out there while it was still cool.”
The early October mornings were just barely hinting at the crispness of fall, but Krystal was right. By afternoon, it could well be too hot to think outside. “Do you want something to do in the air-conditioning later?”
Krystal nodded.
“Andrea,” Lori called. “What exhibits do you have at the museum right now?”
Andrea came in, brushing the last of the powdered sugar from her hands. She smiled and extended her hand to Krystal as she approached.
Krystal shook her hand as Lori introduced them. “Andrea’s the curator of the Dusky Cove Museum,” she explained.
“That’s right, I am. Right now, we have an exhibit on shipwrecks off the coast here.”
“There’s even something from a German U-boat,” Lori said. Or maybe she gushed a little. Andrea worked so hard to make the museum engaging — and she was darn good at it, too.
“Ooh,” Krystal said. “Joshua’s a big World War II buff.”
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br /> “If you have time while you’re in the area, you should get out to Wilmington and see the Battleship.”
Krystal raised an eyebrow.
“The USS North Carolina. It’s decommissioned and you can tour it now.”
Her eyes lit up. “Do you think we’d have time to do both?”
Andrea nodded. “I’m about to go over and open up the museum. You should have time to visit the Battleship first.”
“Might want to do that,” Lori suggested. “I don’t remember the Battleship being air-conditioned.”
“How long will it take?” Krystal asked.
Lori grabbed her binder that listed local attractions. “It’s been a while since I’ve been out there, but it looks like it’s about forty minutes away.” A memory flashed through Lori’s mind. “When we were kids we went out there and my brothers put me in one of the giant stewpots.”
“I bet you’re not allowed in there now.” Krystal chuckled.
“I’m not sure you were allowed in there then, either.” Lori turned to Andrea. “Are there still alligators that live around the boat?”
“Oh yes, I remember feeding them on a field trip when I was a teenager.” Andrea smirked. “Not sure that’s allowed either.”
“And how long does the tour take?”
Lori consulted her binder. “About two hours, but you can do longer if you want.”
Krystal thought it over, then turned to Andrea. “Will you be open around two?”
“Of course. In fact, I’m supposed to be opening up now. See you this afternoon?”
“Definitely,” Krystal said. Both she and Andrea thanked Lori before heading on their separate ways.
Lori settled on the floral sofa. She had her crossword, but —
Before she could even come up with an excuse, her doorbell rang again. She wasn’t this popular even when she was fully booked.
She remembered Andrea’s fear for her and approached the door with a tinge of trepidation. Surely the police weren’t here to arrest her.
She checked the peephole: Mitch.
Lori opened the door. “Hi.”
