by Dixie Davis
“A woman drowned off the Boardwalk tonight. Wife — widow — of the man who died at your motel today.”
The boxing match switched to a subdued commercial, and the room grew darker. Lori could just make out the last remnants of humor slipping from Walt’s face. “Another — was it an accident?”
“Pretty big coincidence, don’t you think?”
“So’s finding my pickup near where she was killed when her husband died at my place.” Walt pursed his thin lips, showing exactly what he thought of her line of reasoning.
“You have to admit, it doesn’t look very good,” Lori tried.
“No, neither of them look good for me. Good thing Branson’s kid called an hour ago and checked up on me.”
Branson’s kid — Old Man Branson must be the chief’s father. Pretty good alibi witness.
“Wait,” Lori said. “If you’re here — a good twenty-minute walk away — why is your truck still at the Boardwalk?”
“Ray gave me a ride.”
Lori nodded. She’d check with Ray to be sure, but she’d trust his word implicitly. Ray’s memory wasn’t as good as his wife’s — the mysterious Katie who seemed to hear everything that happened in the shop but never came down from their upstairs apartment because of her health — but he was not a liar. He’d stood by her, and if he trusted Walt now, then she supposed she’d have to do the same.
“All right,” she said at last. “Thanks for talking to us. Hope we didn’t ruin your game.”
“Sh!” called one of the old ladies watching the boxing match.
“Sorry!” Lori whisper-called. She and Mitch headed back through the kitchen.
“You want to check with Ray right now?” Mitch murmured.
Lori shook her head. They both had a connection with Ray; they could easily ask him tomorrow when he wasn’t in the same room as Walt.
But the sinking feeling in Lori’s middle told her what she needed to know: Ray was going to vouch for Walt because he’d actually been with Walt.
Walt had no reason to kill Howard or Vera. And at this point, Lori had no idea who did. Clint had been with Lori when Vera died. Karl might have had an alibi for the morning. Tom couldn’t have been anywhere around. Or could he? She’d established that he was staying in Wilmington, but she’d failed to nail down a specific alibi for that morning.
She’d have to talk to him again, maybe tomorrow at InnCon. But why and how would he make it out to Dusky Cove twice in a day to kill former customers who’d stiffed him for $1500? Was that enough to justify murder?
Mitch drove Lori back to the Mayweather House. At Front Street, he turned to pull down the drive, under the live oaks and around to the double-decker porches. Lights on upstairs showed that the Johnstons had made it in all right.
The window next to the Johnstons’ was dark. Howard and Vera’s room . All their things must still be up there, frozen in time, waiting for them to come back.
For the second time in her single season as a B&B owner, Lori would have to collect the personal items of her guests because they’d passed away.
The first time, she’d called crime scene cleanup and they’d taken care of everything.
This time, the victims were her friends. They should have been safe here.
But the longer she left their things in their room, the harder it would be to break that spell, to make things right.
Mitch parked next to Lori’s navy blue car and turned to her. “Are you okay?”
She laughed, two high notes. “Are you kidding?”
Mitch took her hand and gave it a squeeze. But Lori couldn’t even be excited about the most intimate gesture he’d made.
“I lost two friends today in horrible, horrible ‘accidents.’ I can’t figure out who would want them dead and who could have gotten to them. I took Vera to the place where she was killed. No, Mitch. I’m not okay.”
“Of course not.”
With her free hand, Lori pulled the seatbelt away from her. But that wasn’t why her chest felt tight. “I want — I want to make this right.” Really, she wanted to make this unhappen, but that wasn’t an option.
“Then you find out who killed them.”
Lori turned to him. “You’re not going to tell me to leave this to the police, that they can do their job?”
“We’ve both seen how they do their job. They’re a dog with a bone when they’ve found a suspect they like. I’d trust you first.”
She offered a weak smile. “Thanks.”
“It’s not just flattery — Chip said on the phone that Vera’s death was an accident, maybe a suicide. The woman I spent the afternoon with was not suicidal, and I don’t think she murdered her husband, either. I can’t even figure out how somebody her size supposedly pushed him.”
Lori nodded emphatically. “You’re right. The police are stubborn. We’re the only ones who will look into this.”
Although she hadn’t meant to conscript Mitch. Lori avoided his eyes. Instead, she stared up at her house, the last home-away-from-home Howard and Vera had ever known.
She needed to investigate. And she knew just where to start.
“We should check Howard and Vera’s room,” Lori said. As soon as the words were out, though, she hesitated. “But if the police need evidence —”
“Evidence they’re not looking for,” Mitch pointed out.
“You’re a natural-born subversive, aren’t you?” Lori shot him a smirk, and then her plan began gathering momentum. “We can call the police if we find anything. I’d have to clean out their room eventually, right?”
“Right,” Mitch said. He followed her into the inn. Lori retrieved the key to the Oak Island Room and let them in.
Lori started on a circuit around the room, starting by the art wall with the pictures of live oaks. Mitch leaned over their suitcases shoved in the far corner. “Just dirty clothes over here.”
“Do you see a phone? Howard had a nice phone.” Funny for a man who couldn’t use a computer well — he definitely loved browsing the internet on his phone. “Look for electrical plugs,” Lori instructed Mitch.
She checked the outlet under the table. There was something plugged in there. Lori followed the cord to the top of the table. A laptop computer — the perfect place to start. Hopefully it wasn’t password protected.
Lori pulled up a chair to the table and opened the laptop Howard had brought. Neither he nor Vera really cared for the things, but they were absolutely necessary for almost any kind of business these days, but especially a B&B.
Reason number 10,057 she wanted an online booking service: it would seriously cut down on the amount of time she spent on the computer, working without actually doing anything.
The computer finally loaded, no password screen. She looked over the desktop. There had to be something here, some evidence, didn’t there?
“Nothing plugged in over here,” Mitch announced.
“There’s another outlet between the closet and the bathroom,” Lori said. She wasn’t sure what kind of incriminating evidence she should be looking for on Howard’s computer — unless someone had emailed him death threats?
Seemed like as good a place as any to start. Lori looked over the programs on his desktop until she found one for email. She opened it up and new emails immediately began downloading.
She felt like the little boy who’d pulled his finger out of the dike: this was starting a flood she desperately wanted to stop. She hadn’t come here to snoop about their latest soap purchases or their next bookings. She only wanted to know if there was anything bad.
Lori found the search bar and typed in “kill.” I’m going to kill you seemed like the most likely death threat, right?
Normal people did not have to think about things like that, did they?
Lori had never been normal, though.
She sifted through the emails that came up in the search, but they were about things like killer whales and a booking for a couple from Freshkills.
That felt e
xtra morbid today.
Lori tried death, die, and any other word she could think of that might constitute a death threat. Nothing pertinent came up.
What did Howard have about Clint? Lori searched for his name next. A long list of emails popped up, mostly actually sent by Clint. The subject lines read like grade school playground taunts: “our guests like us better than yours do,” “our towels are better than yours,” “we’ve got to do something about this.”
Wait, what was that last one? Lori scrolled to that subject line and clicked to open the email.
Howard, we can’t sit on this any longer. I’m willing to set aside everything — permanently. We need to talk, with him too. It’s got to come out — and it’s going to, with or without us.
Lori looked at the other emails before and — well, there weren’t any after it. The date stamp was Thursday evening. After the convention that day, where they’d gotten into a screaming match.
So Clint wanted to set aside their differences — for a greater cause? What kind of cause?
The other emails from him said nothing about this all-important meeting or the subject at all. Really, they were mostly just the taunting subject lines.
How obnoxious. No wonder Howard had such a hair trigger with the guy. But it hardly seemed like enough evidence to take to the police.
“Nothing over here,” Mitch announced again.
“Check the plug by the nightstand,” Lori said.
Just to be sure, Lori checked the trash and the spam folders, but there was no more to the conversation with Clint. So whatever he was referring to, they must have talked about it in person or over the phone, if at all.
“I’ve got a charger,” Mitch said. “But no phone.”
Hm. Both the phone and Howard’s fancy business card case. And hadn’t the crime scene technician said there was no evidence in Howard’s pockets? Then where had his case and his phone gotten to?
Lori made another sweep of the room, checking drawers, hunting through their empty suitcases, sweeping under the bed. No sign of either of Howard’s favorite things.
Maybe he’d had them with him at the motel but dropped them in the fall. Or they could have fallen out of his pockets when he flipped over the railing.
Surely the police would have found them if they were at the scene, right? Just like they’d found the cigarette butts.
But . . . what if whoever pushed Howard ran down to where he’d fallen and picked up his things?
Lori pulled out her own cell phone and dialed Howard’s number, a last-ditch effort to find it. The call went straight to voicemail.
She tried to ignore the sting of disappointment. On some level, she’d hoped the killer had the phone and would answer.
On another level, though, some tiny part of her hoped Howard would answer, and this was all just a bad dream.
Just like Vera had said, Lori wished she could wake up from this.
Mitch’s voice broke into Lori’s thoughts. “Have you looked here?” he asked, gesturing at the dresser in front of him.
“I checked all the drawers.”
“On top?”
Lori glanced over the items there: medicine bottles, a manicure kit and a pack of cigarettes.
The sight triggered a memory of the smell of cigarette smoke, not from Vera this morning, but from Clint as he arrived at dinner.
Late. She couldn’t be his alibi because Clint had arrived late.
Clint was a smoker. Could he have been the one to drop the cigarette butts at the scene?
Lori turned to Mitch.
“You have a look in your eye,” Mitch said.
“No, I don’t — wait, what kind of look?”
“A plotting look. What are you planning?”
Lori pursed her lips. “Can’t you guess?”
“I’d always rather you just tell me.”
So much for mystery in a relationship. As if they were in a relationship at all.
“I’m going to call the Cape Inn and talk to Clint.”
“Just . . . don’t go chasing after anybody on your own.”
Lori shot him an incredulous look. “Would I ever do something like that?”
It was Mitch’s turn to send her a skeptical look.
“All right, maybe I would, but not tonight.”
“You’d better not.” He checked his watch and gave a low whistle. “I’m going to turn into a pumpkin.”
Lori bit back a smile at the phrase she’d heard from him before and bid him goodbye.
She wasn’t sure what might happen, but she wasn’t about to run out and confront Clint tonight. Even contacting him was a big risk to take. Clint had already canceled his prospective innkeeper classes. If Lori spooked him any further, he might skip town altogether.
But she had to at least try to confront the killer — in a very safe way.
Lori headed to her office and found the number again. She dialed. Even though it was on the late side, Sara the innkeeper answered. “Cape Inn, how can I help you?”
“I’d like Clint Cooper’s room, please.”
“I’m sorry,” Sara said, “but he checked out early.”
What? It had only been a few hours since she’d called him there, and it was well past normal checkout time.
She’d talked to Clint and now he had to know she was on to him.
Clint was running.
Was she in danger?
Lori didn’t sleep well that night, knowing that a killer was on the loose. The police had barely made a note of Clint’s departure when she called. Walt would surely call her if someone named Clint checked in after she’d asked him about the name twice. The Blue Heron wouldn’t know any better.
But, then, why wouldn’t Clint just run home to Charleston? He’d killed his biggest competition, and now he was going to get away with it. Why not go home and enjoy it?
Lori got up early not just because she needed to prepare breakfast for the Johnstons, but because she just couldn’t toss and turn any longer.
She tried to burn off her energy toasting bread, poaching eggs, and candying bacon in the microwave. Though they’d liked the dosants, the Johnstons seemed like a pretty healthy couple. Maybe these ingredients would make a tasty sandwich — with vegetables. The Johnstons were the type who’d eat vegetables for breakfast even if they weren’t fried.
Lori hated them a little bit.
In the pantry, she found a couple fresh tomatoes. A bunch of spinach from the fridge would fill out the sandwiches nicely.
The buffet items were laid out in the appropriate warming and cooling dishes probably a touch too early. A bowl of ice with packaged yogurt cups and a bowl of homemade granola filled the rest of the table, except for one spot.
She knew just what to fill it with. Lori headed back to the kitchen and chopped up all her fresh fruit into a fruit salad.
It was definitely the healthiest breakfast she’d ever served.
Lori hated herself a little bit.
Maybe more than a little bit. If she could have prevented either of her friends’ deaths yesterday . . .
Before she knew it, Lori had practically inhaled one of the breakfast sandwiches. She forced herself to slow down and enjoy the last few bites: the sweet, smoky, salty crunch of the bacon, and tender-crisp spinach and tomato, the soft poached eggs. All on flavorful, warm bread.
But it would taste much better if her friends were here to share it.
“Good morning!” Krystal Johnston called. “Wow,” she said, “you’ve really outdone yourself!”
Lori couldn’t tell her that yesterday’s breakfast had taken much more effort, and Vera’s inspiration and help. Today’s breakfast was harder for other reasons.
“We heard sirens last night, and realized we haven’t heard them at all here in town until now. Everything okay?”
Lori shook her head slowly. She couldn’t lie to her guests, but she also didn’t want to admit that the other people who’d been staying at the inn had been murdered ten hours
apart yesterday here in their idyllic, sleepy town. “Someone ran into some trouble,” she managed. “The police don’t exactly keep me in the loop.”
Krystal nodded. Her husband, Joshua, finally joined her at the buffet. They raved over the breakfast sandwiches. Lori made an effort to keep up the conversation, but it just wasn’t as easy as yesterday.
Just as the Johnstons finally got up from the table, Lori recognized what she needed to do today. She wasn’t going to sit around and do nothing, lamenting the fact that Clint had gotten away. She needed to go back to InnCon, the place where they both were supposed to be this weekend, and try to find Clint there. Yes, odds were better that he’d gone back to Charleston, but even if he wasn’t at the convention, she’d be able to gather evidence.
Lori got the Johnstons squared away with bike trail maps and rental brochures from Bald Head Island for the day, then headed out on the drive that had become even more familiar over the last few days. Once again, the car felt empty, almost echoey.
By the time Lori walked into InnCon, her resolve was beginning to weaken. She glanced heavenward at the convention center’s dark stained wood and chandeliers above her. What exactly did she hope to accomplish here? Did she seriously think Clint could murder two people and then just stroll in here and present his classes?
She wasn’t really sure what he was capable of, but if he was smart, Clint had run. Still, there had to be something she could do here. She wasn’t allowed at either crime scene and she couldn’t imagine there’d be much there for an amateur to find.
So she’d talk to people here. Maybe someone would know where to find Clint, or something that might help find actual evidence against him. And the Dusky Cove Police Department definitely wouldn’t bother sending a detective here to investigate.
Lori scanned the exhibit hall for familiar faces. She’d made plenty of friends at InnCon last year, but most of the other attendees of her prospective innkeeper classes hadn’t bought an inn yet. Slowly, the association’s email list was helping her get to know the more established members, but she didn’t recognize anyone just from their email address.
She wandered the floor, searching for anyone she knew. She found herself angling toward the Carolina Clayworks table, but when she was still ten feet away, Lori stopped short. A woman with rich bronze skin in a fuchsia blazer stood behind the table, chatting with an attendee. Karl was nowhere in sight.
