by Kathi Daley
“Silvia and I have a whodunit outlined that takes place at a summer camp,” Connie informed us. “It’s a camp for tweens and teens, but the murder mystery involves the camp counselors, not the kids. We didn’t want to write a story where a child was harmed in any way.”
I sat back and enjoyed the exchange of ideas that was flowing freely. I knew that most, if not all, of the retreat participants would go home with more ideas than they could possibly hope to get to, but the generation of ideas was usually part of the point of such a gathering.
After dinner, I went to help Georgia in the kitchen. She basically worked seven days a week when we had guests. Currently, there were down times between guests, but as the inn became more popular, I knew that those downtimes would decrease significantly. We did have Jeremy to help out, but during times like this, when there was a lot of snow, even he had a hard time handling the place on his own. I supposed I could take a more active role in the future, but the truth was, while I owned the building and grounds, I was a writer, not an innkeeper. If our customer base continued to grow at the present rate, at some point, I’d have to hire additional help. Nikki already worked for us part-time. I wondered if she might be interested in more hours and be willing to fill in for Georgia when she had time off. If not, I could advertise for someone. But that issue was a problem for another day. Right now, Georgia, Jeremy, Nikki, and I were making it work, and that was all I really needed to worry about.
“Alfred was asking me about our murder mystery weekends,” Georgia said as I began putting food away. “I told him about the one we did in October, and he expressed interest in attending if we decided to do another. I know we talked about doing a Great Gatsby–themed weekend in the spring. Are we still considering that?”
“It would be fun. Everyone could dress up in clothing from the 1920s. We could create a menu that complements the theme, and the weapon used and method of murder, could be based on the time period. I still think a Great Gatsby–themed murder mystery is a wonderful idea. Do we have a free weekend to hold it?”
“We are pretty booked up after Memorial Day and around Easter, but there are a few little gaps in our bookings we could reserve. Of course, we’d need to mark those dates out now, before they fill up. I have to say that bookings are way up after the article in the Times.”
“You and I should sit down with a calendar and figure out which weekends we want to reserve for special events. We really should look at the entire year.”
“We’ll do it in the next few days. There are several fall events that we held last year that I want to do again this year, and of course, our holiday events were the talk of the town.”
Georgia was just suggesting an Easter egg hunt for the spring when my cell rang. After checking my caller ID, I answered. “Hey, Colt, what’s up?”
“I was just finishing up here and thought I’d call to see how you were doing before I took off. I’m sure today was tough on you.”
“It was. It’s not like Dax and I are really close, but I’ve known him for a long time. I’ll need some time to process everything, but I’m okay. Have you eaten yet?”
“No. To tell the truth, I’m not sure when I last ate.”
“Georgia and I are just cleaning up. There are a lot of leftovers. I can make you a plate if you want to come by. There is even a large piece of Georgia’s apple pie left.”
“Sold. I’ll be there in about twenty minutes. Is there anything you need from town?”
“No. I think we’re good. Just come to the cottage. I’ll take the food over there.”
“Okay. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
We hung up, and I looked at Georgia. “Colt is coming by. I’m going to make him a plate.”
“I heard. There is plenty of salad as well, so maybe we can set that aside too. It was nice of him to call and check on you.”
I smiled. “Yes, it was. Colt is a really good guy. I think sometimes I forget how good.”
I went to the cabinet and took out a large plate, which I piled high with meat, potatoes, and veggies. I grabbed a bowl for the leftover salad, a couple of rolls, and the pie. I set everything in a box to transport to the cottage. As soon as Colt arrived, I’d heat everything up. I was sure Georgia’s dinner would be almost as good reheated as it had been fresh.
By the time Colt pulled up in front of the cottage, I’d walked and fed the dogs, coaxed Rufus into eating some of my scrambled eggs, and prepared the food for reheating.
“This is nice,” Colt said as he pulled off his jacket and sat down in front of the fire. “It’s been a long few days.”
“It really has. Do you want to eat on the coffee table, or should I set up the dining table?”
“The coffee table is fine. It’s nice here in front of the fire.”
I set the pear and pecan salad Georgia had made as well as the rolls and butter in front of him. I assured him that the meat and potatoes were being kept warm in the oven. “So, how is the investigation going?” I asked once he’d had a chance to eat a few bites. I wasn’t sure I should even bring it up; the poor guy looked exhausted, but I had to admit to being curious.
“Well, in answer to your question, I started off with five suspects, and I still have five suspects, so I guess you might say the investigation is going nowhere.”
I sat down next to him. “You might not have been able to eliminate anyone, but you do have information that you didn’t have when you started. That must count for something.”
He let out a long sigh. “I guess. I did learn one very interesting thing today.”
“Oh? And what is that?”
“I heard from the medical examiner, and apparently, Train did not die from a knife in the chest.”
Okay, that had me frowning. “What do you mean he didn’t die from a knife in the chest? There are a lot of things you don’t know about what happened, but no one has disputed that the man was found with a knife in his chest.”
“There was a knife in his chest. I saw it myself. But according to the medical examiner, Train was strangled, and someone stuck the knife in his chest after he was already dead.”
I paused to consider that. This turn of events was nuts. I eventually said as much.
“The medical examiner said that it appears that Train died as a result of having his air supply cut off from pressure to his neck. There were no finger or ligature marks from a rope or cord, so it looks as if someone had him in a hold with an arm around his neck and squeezed until he passed out, then died. Very shortly after, the knife was jammed into his heart, making it appear as if he’d died of a stab wound. Stabbing a guy who is already dead seems like overkill, but that is apparently what happened.”
“Okay, so who would do that?”
“The person who strangled him was strong and at least as tall as Train,” Colt added.
“Dax?”
“Perhaps. Dax is tall, and he appears to be the most physically strong of any of the suspects. But Hank is also a big guy and could have done it, as is Tank.”
“Frank and Bob?”
“I don’t think they physically have the strength.”
“I suppose Dax and Hank both had motive, and with the added knowledge that Dax was in the backyard, it really does look like he did it.”
“Maybe,” Colt agreed. “He is a strong suspect at this point, and I am looking into him further. He admitted to going around to the back of the house and finding Train dead and to having a motive for killing him. There are those who would assume that because he volunteered that information, it might mean he is innocent, but the truth of the matter is, he had to know that I would find out that he’d been in the backyard and that he had been blackmailed by Train eventually. Billy Martin, the pizza delivery guy, saw him come around the house from the back. Dax knew that. And he also had to know that once I learned that he had been seen coming from the backyard, I would take a closer look at him and pull his financials as part of that. Even if he did kill Train, he would have been able to
figure out that coming clean about what he realized I would find out anyway was his best bet. As I said, there are those who would take his confession of the stolen story as a sign that he was innocent of the murder. I don’t see it that way.”
Yeah, I didn’t either. The tactic of confessing to a lesser crime to avoid suspicion of a larger one was a well-known tactic in mystery circles. I think Dax even had a character who tried the same sort of thing in one of his books. “And the others?” I asked.
“Dax seemed to think that Tank had as much motive to kill his brother as anyone else. I took a closer look at him and his relationship with his brother. It does appear that Train had acted as a sort of troublesome appendage to Tank’s life for a very long time. He showed up at the same college Tank was attending when they were young men and was forced by his parents to take him under his wing. Based on what I learned from the few college friends that I managed to track down, all Train really did was bring Tank a whole lot of grief.”
“So, I wonder why Tank was helping him out now by giving him a job.”
“I don’t know. Yet,” he emphasized. “I have a few theories that I’m looking in to, but it does appear as if Tank’s relationships, both personal and professional, have been damaged since his brother came to town.”
“Tank admitted to being in the backyard,” I pointed out. “That gives him opportunity.”
“Yes, it does.”
“And Hank?” I asked.
“I spoke to him about being blackmailed by Train. He didn’t want to admit it, but I could tell it was true. That gives him as much motive as Dax. Maybe even more, because Hank’s assets are tied to his marriage. The guy had a major reason to want Train out of the way.” Colt leaned back, closing his eyes and rubbing his forehead with his hands. I took away his salad bowl and then took the food from the oven. I set the plate in front of him and then sat back down.
“The thing I find the oddest in all of this is the motorist, if there even was one,” I said. “The entire explanation that includes this guy knocking on the door to use the phone and then Tank just leaving him alone in the office makes no sense. And then the guy leaves without saying anything to anyone? I suppose that if Tank did kill his brother, the stranded motorist might have been intentionally planted as a red herring. He was the only one to have seen the man who supposedly came to the door. How can we know anyone was even there? The stranded motorist story gave Tank an excuse to be out of the room. Maybe he used that time to put something else in place.”
Colt yawned. “Maybe. The story really is too absurd to be true.”
“You look like you are about to fall asleep, but don’t leave without your pie. You can take it with you if you want.”
“Maybe I’ll do that. It is starting to snow again, and I think the wind is supposed to pick up overnight. Tomorrow is probably going to be another long day.”
I got up to wrap up the pie. “I’m glad you stopped by, and I’m sorry I made you go over everything again for me. You know how curious I am.”
“I was happy to fill you in. Your insight has helped me in the past, and I have no doubt it will again. If anything occurs to you, call or text. I’m sure I’ll be swamped tomorrow if we get the snow levels predicted, but I can always make time to call you back.”
“Thanks. I appreciate that.”
“And plan to stay home. I don’t want any of you out on the roads. If you need anything, call me.”
“I will.” I kissed his cheek. “And thanks again.”
Chapter 16
I had a thought in the middle of the night that kept me awake for the rest of it. I needed to check out a few things, but I really did think I might be on to something. I sat up and turned toward the window, looking out over the bay. The snow had stopped, and the moon shone down on the sea. I got up, pulled on a robe, and crossed the room. I stood in front of the window, watching the moon and the sea as a passing cloud rolled slowly by.
There was a general agreement among the five men who’d survived the poker game that once the pizza had been ordered, everyone had gone their own way. From the statements given to Colt and shared with me, there also seemed to be a general agreement that everyone had gathered back in the den when the pizza arrived with the exception of Train. Once they realized Train was not back, it sounded like Tank went looking for his brother. On the surface, this didn’t seem all that important because, according to Dax, Train was already dead by that time. So, the person who had gone looking for him hadn’t necessarily killed him, though the more I thought about it, the more it occurred to me that this fact could be very important indeed.
I walked over to the gas fireplace and clicked it on. I knew from experience that once my mind got to working on a problem, it rarely relaxed enough for sleep to return. I sat down on the small love seat I’d arranged in front of the fireplace so that I could enjoy the view of the sea through the large sliding door and pulled a warm, fleecy throw over my lap. My dog, Molly, realizing I wasn’t coming back to bed, jumped down and joined me on the sofa.
The timeline Colt had developed, had Dax going around to the side of the house to speak to Train before the men came back together in the den. Dax had told Colt that when he arrived on the back porch, where he knew Train had gone to smoke, he’d found him already dead. Dax confessed to panicking at that point because he knew it would eventually come out that he had a motive to want Train dead, so instead of calling for help, he went back around to the front of the building and returned to the den and the rest of the poker players through the same front door through which he’d left it.
Molly put her head in my lap, and I adjusted my legs just a bit to make sure she was comfy. I slowly scratched the top of her head as I tried to work everything out in my mind as I watched the flames in the fireplace.
Billy Martin, the delivery guy, told Colt that he saw Dax coming around from the back of the house when he arrived with the pizzas. He watched Dax enter through the front door and disappear inside. He then brought the pizzas up to the house, and Hank paid for them. Once that was taken care of, Hank went to join the others in the den, and Billy returned to his car, where he sat for a minute to find the directions to his next delivery on the app on his phone. It was while he was looking for directions that he claimed to have seen the two men through the window upstairs. The thin, transparent curtains were closed, but once the light came on, Billy was able to see their silhouettes clearly enough to give a general description of height and weight.
A gust of wind slammed against the cottage, causing it to rumble and groan. Apparently, despite the temporary clearing, the storm wasn’t done with us yet. I pulled the throw in my lap more tightly and continued to work out thoughts that seemed to be coming steadily now.
My first impression when I’d heard Billy’s story about watching the two men upstairs was that one of them must be Frank. He had, by his own admission, been the poker player who had been upstairs the entire time. But as I sat in my cozy bedroom overlooking the sea, I realized that by the time Billy saw the silhouettes through the window, Dax had already seen Train’s dead body, come back around the house, gone inside, and seen Frank coming down the stairs from the second story. By that time, the pizza had been delivered, and, according to the stories Colt and then I had been told, the five other men had all gathered back in the den.
If all the men were in the den during the time when Billy was sitting in his car looking up the address for his next delivery, who did he see through the window?
I glanced at the tangle of sheets and blankets on the bed. Rufus was still sound asleep. He seemed to be resting comfortably, snoring even, so I decided to leave him to his dreams. Returning my focus to the flames that danced before me, I continued to try to work out what had actually happened.
Based on what we had been told of who had been on the property at the time, there was really only one explanation. Two, actually, but the most obvious one was that one of the two men Billy had seen through the window was Tank, who had left
the house to go look for Train. The other man, the one Tank was talking to, must have been the stranded motorist, who must never have left the house at all.
I knew this theory made sense providing everything else Colt and I had been told and assumed was correct. The only other explanation I could come up with was that someone who had not been previously identified as even being in the house had come in through the back gate from the alley and taken the deck stairs up to the second story. If that were true, I supposed the shadows could have belonged to anyone.
“I need to call Colt,” I said to Rufus and Molly despite the fact that it was still dark out and had once again begun to snow like the dickens. I glanced at the clock. It was close to six a.m. I wouldn’t say it was a normal hour for making a social call, but in this case, I didn’t think Colt would mind. I set Molly to the side, crossed to my nightstand, and picked up my cell, which I’d left charging. Then I took it back to the love seat, pulled the throw over my lap, and looked once again at the clock.
Five fifty-eight. I’d wait until six and call then. What difference two minutes would make I couldn’t say, but somehow in my mind, six o’clock seemed more acceptable than five fifty-eight or even five fifty-nine.
“Abby? Is everything all right?” Colt asked as soon as he answered.
I could hear the fatigue in his voice and felt awful. I supposed what I had to say could have waited. Of course, now that I’d made the call, I ought to speak up. “I’m fine, and everything is okay. I’m sorry for calling so early, but I woke up an hour ago and have been going over things in my mind. I have an idea to run past you, and for some reason, I convinced myself that it couldn’t wait until the sun made its way over the horizon.”
“Okay, hang on.”
I listened while I assumed he got out of bed. I guess it made sense that he would want to be up and alert to hear my theory. I pictured him pulling on a robe and crossing the room to the corner he used as an office. He probably clicked on his desk lamp and found his notepad in case he needed to jot something down. He, like me, had a gas fireplace in his bedroom. I imagined him clicking it on.
