by Dixie Davis
“Got in late last night. She called and said—”
Fast footsteps sounded on the stairs, and a balding African-American man Lori didn’t recognize stepped out. Travis was on his feet before the man made it to the door. Lori followed as far as the porch steps.
“Doctor Everett,” Travis called, “how long until you’ll have a death certificate?”
Dr. Everett stopped in his tracks and turned to Travis. “Reporter?”
“Husband.”
The doctor offered a grim nod. “So sorry for your loss. Not sure how long a certificate will take.”
“But the chief said you had to certify the death?”
Dr. Everett held up a hand. “That’s just to release the crime scene.”
“I only — I want to know how she died.”
“Cause and means will take a little longer. Have to get to the autopsy, maybe further analysis.”
Travis stepped closer to him, but Lori could still hear his words. “On television, they give a guess at the scene.”
“And if I did that here, that’s all it would be, a guess.” The doctor clapped Travis on the shoulder. “I’m sorry. I’ll hurry.”
Travis nodded and let the doctor go.
Lori watched Travis pace on her scrubby, sandy lawn. She’d needed a death certificate to cash in Glenn’s insurance. Was that enough motive for Travis?
He said he’d wanted to patch up their marriage, and he’d seemed sincere. But could that merely be part of the elaborate lie?
But if the insurance was his motive — and half a million dollars was quite a bit of motivation — of course he didn’t want her to leave him. She’d change the beneficiary on her policy if they divorced.
Travis had been in town, possibly since yesterday if he had a room at the motel.
Could he be the murderer?
A little before dinnertime, the Mayweather House was cleared for Lori to occupy, though she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to. She’d managed to reheat some leftovers for dinner, but once Joey had retreated to her office, the dishes weren’t enough to keep Lori’s mind off what had happened that day.
And what might happen again. If Travis was a killer, would he come after Lori to cover his tracks? Her lungs seemed to constrict at the thought.
Lori pulled herself back to the present and turned off the spray of hot water. At least she wouldn’t have to worry about any other guests’ safety tonight. No new guests until the weekend. In the quiet, the only sound was the towel rubbing the water off the plate. The house felt . . . eerie.
Really, in a house that had stood here for two centuries, Dawn could not be the first to left this mortal vale within these walls. But thinking of the ghosts the house might have accumulated before Lori took over the watch wasn’t comforting, either.
Maybe it was time to take another break from the place. Granted, pretty much all of the businesses along Front Street had closed an hour ago, and the shops lining Main Street were closing up as well. There had to be something to do on a Wednesday night —
Of course. Lori put away the last dish and found Joey on the couch. “I’ve been meaning to get to Bible study,” she said. Joey didn’t bother hiding his mild surprise, but Lori pressed on. “Want to come with me?”
“Sure.”
Lori fetched her Bible and drove them the five minutes to the classic white church — past two other churches, of course.
“Did you want to get married in a church instead?” Joey asked as they reached the doors.
Lori shrugged. Maybe if it was a congregation she’d belonged to for years, or a minister she’d worked and counseled with. When she had so few roots in town, the Mayweather House was already her strongest emotional connection.
As they reached the meeting hall and the folding chairs set up for Bible study, Lori stopped short. Kim Yates stood with a group of women a few feet away, and they conspicuously fell silent, all eyes on Lori.
“What’s she doing here?”
Lori couldn’t be sure whether she heard or imagined the hiss, but the intention was clear whether or not they’d actually put it into words. Where was Pastor O’Leary or any other friendly face? Lori hugged her Bible closer and marched toward the seats.
Until Andrea Hopkins stepped in front of Lori. Was this the friendly face she’d hoped for? “My goodness, Lori, I heard.”
Already? Lori opened her mouth to answer, but nothing came out.
Joey stepped up to come to her defense. “Which part?”
Was that his defense?
“That your guest died. The one who was giving you trouble.” Andrea’s frown was tempered with sympathy, and yet Lori wanted to get out of here — to get away from this subject.
“Uh.” Lori’s second attempt wasn’t any more articulate.
Joey tried again, too. “You know, we’re really not supposed to talk about it. Chief Branson’s orders.”
That was basically what Chief Branson had said — but it also wasn’t the strong, proactive defense Lori was hoping for. Something to shut down all the ridiculous rumors and prove her innocence, if only in the court of public opinion.
Maybe it was shallow or vain of her, but Lori did not want to be hanged in that court her first month in town. Condemned for her innocence.
“Last I heard,” Lori said, “they have more to investigate before they’ll even say a crime was committed.”
A loud scoff sounded from behind Andrea, and Heidi Carleton — Beth Owens’s sister — stepped out into view. “There’s some question whether a crime was committed?”
Heat pushed out from Lori’s chest. She’d had enough of this woman. “Your sister selling her business to me wasn’t a crime.”
“But killing your very first guest was.”
“I didn’t kill her. I don’t even know if anyone did!” Lori stopped herself, but it was too late. She’d given credence to the rumors by denying them. Even if she’d done it in a church, who was going to believe her?
“We really should wait for the official news before we go pointing fingers,” Andrea said.
“Why? We all saw what happened in the Salty Dog,” Heidi said, her voice dripping with derision. “If you think that’ll go away if you pretend it didn’t happen, you’re wrong. Dead wrong.”
Lori gritted her teeth. “That comment was in very poor taste.”
Heidi flinched, realizing her mistake too late. “Well,” she blustered, “the fact remains that we all saw her make a fool of you in the Salty Dog. And don’t think I’ve forgotten what you said at the grocery store yesterday.”
“What did she say?” A woman standing next to Kim Yates leaned in to get the juicy details. In fact, it seemed every person in the room was leaning in to lap up the gossip.
“She was talking about the guest, and she said she wanted to wring. Her. Neck.”
This time, the gasp was definitely audible, and definitely real.
“But I didn’t say that,” Lori protested. Andrea attempted to back her up, too. The gossip mill was already running, however, and the grist nearly drowned out her words.
Lori looked around the room in horror. Maybe some people in the room were talking about the weather or fishing or the Bible, but it still felt like every eye and every conversation focused on her.
Once again, tears welled up in her eyes. Lori blinked quickly and directed her gaze toward the ceiling to avoid the inevitable.
“You know,” Joey said loudly, “I think if we were hoping to get anything out of the Good Book tonight, we’d be better off studying it at home.”
Lori nodded slowly. There was the defense she needed, even if it was a little late.
“Better study that Bible with where she’s going,” someone muttered. The woman muttered it loudly enough it seemed she meant for everyone to hear.
Lori lifted her chin, still holding back the tears, and walked with Joey back out of the church.
Even studying the Bible at home wasn’t enough to drive the memory out of her head. She
set her Bible down on the coffee table and leaned back against the sofa. “Do the police listen to gossip?” she asked.
“Listen? Probably.” Joey sat up straighter in his armchair. “Let it direct their investigation? I doubt it.”
“Right,” Lori said slowly. “Would you mind staying here tonight? In the Carolina Beach Room,” she rushed to add. “I’d feel better knowing I’m not all alone.”
“Sure.” Joey smiled and patted her knee.
It did help, knowing that he was there, although it still took Lori more than an hour to fall asleep that night. Especially with Dawn’s face flashing in front of her eyes every time she closed them.
Dawn’s or Heidi’s. How could anyone hate her that much?
Just before she drifted off to sleep, she remembered: Heidi hated her even more than that. She’d sworn she’d do anything to prove Lori didn’t belong in hospitality, or the Mayweather House, or Dusky Cove.
But could “anything” include framing her for murder?
The next morning dawned gray. She didn’t ask Joey to stay with her, but he cashed in his paid time off anyway. They puttered around the inn, updating the décor in the rooms, planning menus, coming up with marketing ideas.
If it weren’t for the pall Dawn’s death still cast over the house, Lori would have enjoyed the first real companionship she’d had in over a decade. Having Joey as a partner was something to look forward to even more than the wedding.
Though she still needed to tell her boys. Eventually, she’d buckled down to let them know she was all right, in case the news of a small-town death-that-wasn’t-even-a-murder-(yet?) reached them. But she’d only had the courage to do it over email, and she hadn’t responded to their follow-up questions.
She hadn’t been able to respond to much of anything. Although other business owners had never come by the Mayweather House to hang out or mooch her guest snacks, suddenly the absence felt more deliberate. Isolating. Ostracizing.
Finally, the third day after finding Dawn, Lori came to a realization: the court of public opinion was going to condemn her until the medical examiner definitively said the cause of death had nothing to do with her. Truthfully, most of the town might still think she had something to do with it. But if Dawn had in fact been murdered, everyone would believe Lori had done it — unless she could prove someone else had. If Dawn was even murdered at all.
While Joey worked on the computer files, Lori pulled out an old, half-used notebook and flipped to a clean page. Suspects, she wrote at the top of the paper.
Obviously, she couldn’t put her own name on the list. She knew she didn’t do it, and she definitely wasn’t going to investigate herself.
She replayed Dawn’s visit over and over, starting further and further back. But she hadn’t seen Dawn with anyone in town, except when everyone saw her at the Salty Dog.
Maybe the suspect saw that exchange and thought Lori would be a great fall woman. Who all had seen it?
Heidi Carleton, for one. Lori wrote down that name, and then added a star. Thinks her sister won’t come home if I’m here, she wrote next to Heidi’s name. Murder?
Dawn’s husband was another likely suspect. The police surely started there. They had to know by now that something was up, since he’d had a hotel room of his own — possibly the night before she died. Lori wrote down Travis Vogel and grabbed the phone. With only a few hotels and inns in town, they had to cooperate with their competition, and Lori had met Walt, the Riverboat Motel’s owner, a few times.
Once she’d introduced herself, Lori cut to the chase — or to the lie. “Listen, I’m trying to figure out a billing mix-up over here. Travis Vogel is staying with you now, right?”
Walt coughed, but his voice still sounded just as gruff. “Yeah, he is.”
“When did he check in?”
“Now, I didn’t see him. Checked in with the night desk. Hang on.” Loud computer keys clacked for a moment. “Looks like Tuesday night.”
He’d arrived the day before Dawn died. “Perfect,” Lori said. “Thanks a lot. Have a great day!”
In her notebook, she made a note of his arrival time. Then she added a question mark, since she couldn’t be sure whether he’d snuck up here behind Dawn’s back or whether she’d told him to come.
Another important fact: he was very concerned about the life insurance money. That was a classic motive in movies. Could she figure out how long he’d had the policy on her?
That was going to take a lot bigger lie, or some things that weren’t totally legal.
Two suspects with strong motives seemed like plenty — should have been enough in the minds of the town gossips — but she couldn’t really rule anyone out.
Who else? Then she remembered the redheaded man. Whoever he was, he might not be a murderer, but he was a piece of the puzzle.
Finally, one last possibility slipped into place. It hardly seemed likely, but the chief had been pretty hostile to Mitch, as if he suspected the handyman. Lori didn’t know him well enough to say either way, but the chief’s grudge match went back to high school. Petty though it might be, spend twenty or thirty years with a man and you get to know him pretty well.
Lori added Mitch Griffin to the list with two big question marks.
The inn phone rang and Lori rushed to answer it. “The Mayweather House—”
“Have you heard?” a woman rushed to ask.
“Heard—? Who is this?”
“Sorry. Andrea Hopkins.”
Lori sighed in relief. The museum curator seemed to be the only person who didn’t assume she was a murderer because she was from out of town. “What’s up, Andrea?”
“Chip — Chief Branson — just made a statement. They have a cause of death for your guest.”
Why did she have to call Dawn “your guest”? It wasn’t like anybody else in town had dropped dead this week. And it wasn’t Lori’s fault.
“He says it’s murder.”
Lori’s heart froze to solid ice. Why couldn’t it be something simple, like natural causes? “What makes him think that?”
“They said it was probably poisoning, but they’re still reviewing the evidence. Toxicology reports take a long time.”
Lori took two deep breaths and forced her mind to move through the thoughts that suddenly started crowding in.
Poison?
“Wait, where did you hear this?”
“My husband’s the editor of the Dusky Chronicle. And he golfs with Chip.”
Chip? Oh, Chief Branson.
“You didn’t share any food with her, did you?” Andrea asked.
“No, I didn’t eat anything she had, I don’t think,” Lori murmured. “Except maybe breakfast?”
“And you’re fine?”
“Obviously.”
Andrea paused. “Who could’ve done something like this?”
Lori hesitated too, but her eyes were on the suspect list. Maybe she knew exactly who.
And until she proved who, everybody else in town would think she’d gotten away with murder.
She’d read and watched enough mysteries to have some idea what to do. In those books, the murderer was always found by writers or priests or little old ladies. She could do that, too, right? At least she knew to start with means, motive and opportunity.
Means . . . who would know enough about poison to do this? Heidi was a businesswoman, Mitch a handyman. What did Travis do?
Lori hopped up and headed for her office. Joey had taken a break, apparently, leaving her computer free. The one thing Beth kept good notes on were her guests. If Travis had ever mentioned his job or hobbies, Beth would have put it in his file.
Beth’s filing system left a lot to be desired, but at least the computer could search for the Vogels’ name. She found three entries, including Dawn’s latest stay.
The first trip, three years ago, Beth had written down their breakfast preferences — in-room. Honeymooners, she’d written. Very cute. He fishes. She keeps to herself.
Not
helpful. Dawn’s final stay wasn’t going to have any clues, so Lori opened the last file, from a year ago.
Wife = lawyer. Snoopy, not chatty. Husband = pharmacist.
Pharmacist? If anybody knew how to poison someone, it’d be him.
Lori made a note of that. The police surely knew about it already, but she was gathering her own evidence.
She looked over her list. Did committing information this serious to paper mean admitting she was trying to prove her own innocence, because she was the most likely suspect?
Except she wasn’t. She had the opportunity, certainly, but motive wasn’t great — how could she murder her first guest? — and she had absolutely no means.
Of course, she had no idea whether Heidi and Mitch might know poisons. But, these days, who actually needed to know anything when they could look it up on the internet?
She couldn’t rule anyone out based on means.
Lori leaned back in the chair and it creaked under her. Motive was one thing there seemed to be too much of to go around. Heidi wanted Lori out; Travis was in the process of divorcing the victim, even if he said he didn’t want a divorce. Or maybe that was even more of a motive if she kept pushing for one.
The redheaded man was a giant question. She couldn’t find out more about him unless she could come up with a name or an identity.
Mitch, of course, had no motive. He just happened to have the bad luck of being at the scene and being an old rival of the chief of police.
Opportunity was a lot more difficult. Dawn had had a key to the front door, so someone might have taken it from her — or convinced her to give it up, in the case of her husband or the redheaded man. It was possible that Heidi had a key to her sister’s home. As a handyman, Mitch might have a key, too, but that seemed unlikely.
Lori folded her arms, trying to untwist her mouth from its frown. For all she knew, someone could have poisoned Dawn at lunch or dinner. In fact, that made much more sense.
And if it was something Lori had made, she definitely needed to know who had a key to the hotel. She needed to know that anyway, even if it had no bearing on the investigation.
Most of all, she didn’t want to throw an innocent person under the bus to clear her name. She wanted to find the person who did this, to give Dawn the peace that she deserved, the peace that she hadn’t found in life.
