“So whatever you said to Henry, there was a potential audience,” I said. An audience could be a good thing—or just the opposite, depending on how Dinah’s interaction with Henry went. And judging by her apparent uneasiness, I assumed it hadn’t gone well.
She wound up confirming that. “Since Henry didn’t seem angry anymore,” she continued, “and didn’t run away like he had in the restaurant, I started asking questions about his wife’s death. Did she, as mayor, have any enemies? Had he—her husband—felt like an enemy when word got out that she was apparently having an affair? Did he remember what the evidence was against Mr. Holpurn? I didn’t look at him when I asked all this, but I sensed him moving a little farther away from me. I reminded him that I was doing research and might write a book about what had happened, despite what he’d said inside about ruining my career. And—well, he blew up at me again. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. He … well, he made me feel terrible. But this time I got angry, too.”
Dinah hung her head, and Janelle bent toward her and gave her a brief hug. When Dinah looked up again, there were tears in her large blue eyes but a stubborn lift to her chin.
“The thing was,” she continued, “he told me that someone like me, just nosy and stupid and pushy, couldn’t possibly write a good book or do anything else worthwhile. He questioned what else I did, how much money I earned, how intelligent I was—and I knew he was just doing it so I’d go away and leave him alone, but I couldn’t.”
I kind of wished now that I’d followed Dinah out when she left the restaurant. But Vicky and Frida had been with her at the time. And I’d had other things, and other people, on my mind—like Reed.
Dinah didn’t stop talking. “Our argument didn’t go on much longer, but I purposefully accused him of possibly killing his wife back then, and he said again something like of course he didn’t do that, but at least he was smart enough to do so if he’d chosen to. Although—well he did look over at Mike Holpurn, who was watching, and say it was a good thing Holpurn confessed since he wasn’t the smartest guy around.”
I shook my head, wanting to hear more … yet wishing that second confrontation simply hadn’t occurred.
Dinah looked at me through increasingly teary eyes. “I knew he wasn’t completely making sense but was just goading everyone. He threatened me again, too. Said he’d come after me if I dared to accuse him.”
I gasped and nearly stood up.
But Dinah didn’t stop. “I promised I would do it, just for fun—then realized this was dumb, since the guy actually could be a killer. I decided it was time to stop and just walked away, and then finally I left the resort. But people heard him insult and threaten me—and not just my writing this time. They saw my reaction, and …” She looked at Janelle, then at me. “I hated Henry at that moment, sure. And yes, we’d argued twice that night. But I never would have killed him—at least not for real. If I wrote about him in a novel, well, that would be different.” She seemed to try to smile but didn’t exactly succeed.
I wasn’t smiling either. I really cared about Dinah, but I could really understand now why she was on the cops’ radar as a possible murder suspect. “So what did you tell Detective Bridget when she questioned you? All of it?”
Dinah nodded and took another sip of wine. “Yes, all of it,” she said defiantly. “And that includes that I was peeved, sure. But the only way I’d have harmed the guy is on paper—or, really, on the computer. Honest, Carrie. You know me. I could have baked Henry some red velvet cupcakes, for example, but I’d never have poisoned him for real. Although …”
“Although?” I prompted. I still didn’t know how Henry had actually died. Poison?
Neither, apparently, did Dinah. “I wish I knew how he did die. I guess that’ll eventually come out in the news. If I knew it now, I’d be able to start working on showing that however it was done, it couldn’t have been me who did it.”
That didn’t sound good. Sure, Dinah had an imagination, but saying that it might take a while to come up with a good defense against whatever the cause of death was certainly didn’t convince me that she didn’t do it.
No, I liked Dinah. Trusted her … mostly.
And I’d certainly jump into this case as I had others, to try to figure out what had happened.
Figure out who’d killed Henry, and how and why.
I only wished that, at this moment, I felt more certain it wasn’t my wonderful, full-time, research-loving, dedicated—and apparently now angry—employee.
Twelve
Janelle started asking Dinah questions about her research methods and what she would write if she started a new story at this moment, trying to draw her focus away from how nasty the encounters with Henry had been. Or at least I hoped that was Janelle’s goal, and also the result.
Meanwhile, I remained jazzed—and curious. And worried.
I caught Neal’s glance. He kind of rolled his eyes but also shrugged his shoulders in a direction that suggested I should follow him. He probably knew what I would be asking.
I turned to Reed, then, and did the same, so that he would come along too. “Excuse us for a minute,” I said to Dinah and Janelle. I thought about offering an excuse like a potty break but decided that saying nothing wasn’t such a bad thing.
I followed Neal through the crowded bar and out the door, and Reed followed me, holding my hand. In the lobby, which was filled with people, too, I said to Neal, “Can you show me the floor above or below where … well, you know. Whatever most closely resembles the floor with the crime scene. It won’t tell us much, but still …”
“Still, you’ll get a better sense for who could have been roaming around, how easy it would have been to see them, how they could have gotten into the room and all that,” Neal finished for me.
“At least it should be safer with the cops around than it was before,” Reed said, now standing beside me, “even if they’re not on whatever floor we visit.”
“Exactly,” Neal agreed.
I wondered if Dinah knew which room Henry had been staying in … and figured that unfortunately, Dinah being Dinah, she probably found out.
We walked outside and stood in front of the main building for a moment. I saw that the parking lot appeared full as usual, and some drivers appeared to be looking for spaces. It was late enough for dusk to have arrived, so most of the illumination came from pole lights around the parking lot.
“This way.” Neal motioned for us to go to the left, toward one of the two resort hotel buildings. It was the one I’d assumed Henry had been staying in, thanks to where I’d seen him and also his dogs, while they were in Mysha Jorgens’ control. I’d apparently guessed correctly.
I wasn’t sure why I felt so nervous—except that it made sense not to feel completely relaxed when we were about to enter the building where a murder had recently occurred. In any event, I was glad to hold Reed’s hand as he reached for mine, and all three of us walked together.
I wasn’t surprised to see police cars and other official vehicles parked by the entrance. Their lights weren’t flashing, but I didn’t think anyone would doubt that the people who’d come here in those vehicles were in charge.
“Henry’s room was on the second floor,” Neal said in a low voice. “I helped to get the Banners moved to the third floor, and it’s pretty much the same layout. Some of the rooms on the first floor are smaller, so I think you’ll be happier checking the top floor instead.”
“Sounds fine with me,” I told him.
“We’ll take the nearest stairway as long as it’s not blocked off. That way we’ll be less obvious to the cops.”
“Also fine,” I said. Inside, though, I felt a bit queasy. The cops. Even my detective “buddies” wouldn’t be thrilled to see me there. They undoubtedly wouldn’t be surprised, since they’d already indicated that they expected me to try to solve this murder, too—partly because some
of the suspects were my friends. And I knew Chief Loretta Jonas wouldn’t be surprised to see me either, nor would Sergeant Himura. But most of the Knobcone Heights PD probably only knew me by reputation, and wouldn’t be thrilled to have me nosing around the area of the murder scene or otherwise.
I swallowed my unease. Uncomfortable or not, I was going in. I would look around, see what the layout was, scan for anything that would give me an idea of how to look around more thoroughly later, when I could.
And at least I had my relationships with the chief, sergeant, and detectives to refer any other cops to, in the event we were stopped and questioned.
Hopefully that would help.
“You ready?” Neal said.
“Ready,” I said firmly and looked at Reed. He nodded, sending me an amused smile.
“Let’s go,” he said, and we followed Neal to the outside door on the nearest side of the long building.
After we got inside, still following Neal, Reed and I entered the stairway. A flight went downward to the building’s basement, and another one headed up. We started slowly up the latter one, Neal still in the lead.
“I know you’re not going to try to butt into the cops’ crime scene investigation,” Reed said. “Not exactly, at least. But I hope you’re at least going to be careful.” His voice was low, but it still echoed a bit in the stairwell, as did the sounds of our feet on the steps.
I turned to glare at him. “Please keep your voice down,” I whispered. “I’m not butting in anywhere. We’re just going to look at the layout of the rooms on that floor by checking out the one above it.”
“Oh,” he said and continued after me.
We climbed up the two flights. I kept my ears open particularly when we reached the second floor and heard muffled voices from somewhere around there. Cops and crime scene investigators, I figured. When we reached the top floor, Neal opened the door. It wasn’t locked, and I assumed that was for safety, in case people who were staying in the building needed a way to get to the ground floor in an emergency. Plus, some people just preferred stairs to elevators.
I followed Neal, with Reed still following me.
I’d visited quite a few locations in the Knobcone Heights Resort—including the beach below the main building, probably all the public establishments in the main building, plus some of the offices there, too—but I didn’t recall ever visiting the hotel room of anyone staying in the resort. The hallway was wide and well lit, its white walls matching the outside of the buildings, with a wooden floor and recessed doors made of a decorative wood leading into each of the rooms. The room numbers were on plaques on the walls just outside those doors. There was a nice-sized window near the door to the stairway that we’d exited from, and I assumed there was another window at the far end of the hall.
No one was out and about in the hallway. It could be that, considering what was going on one floor below them, everyone was taking their time returning to the hotel this evening. Or maybe some had shut themselves into their room for the night already.
Or maybe this simply wasn’t a popular time for traversing this hallway—except for us.
We walked along silently for a few minutes, passing the elevator lobby and a couple more recessed areas containing ice machines and soda and snack vending machines. I figured that a few unmarked doors led to closets or rooms containing the staff’s cleaning equipment.
I moved ahead a bit to catch up with Neal and asked quietly, “Which room are the Banners staying in now?”
He pointed ahead and to our right. “Number 308.”
I wondered if they were inside currently but had no intention of knocking. Instead I had another question. “And the room downstairs where Henry … was?”
“It’s number 212.”
There was a catch in my brother’s voice. I doubted he’d been a particular fan of Henry’s—I doubted anyone was—but still, it was a shame the man had been murdered here, at the resort where Neal so enjoyed working. Heck, it was a shame Henry had died at all, let alone by murder, regardless of his well-earned lack of popularity.
But what Neal had told me caused me to halt right outside room 312. I stood there for a minute listening—and thought I again heard some sounds from the room right below us.
“Are there any vacant rooms on this floor?” I asked. I wanted to see inside one, just to use my imagination about how things might be going during the investigation on the second floor. The likelihood of Neal having a key to get into a vacant room was slim, of course, but I had to ask.
“A couple,” my brother said. “And yes, before you ask, I happen to have one of the generic key cards that housekeeping uses to get inside to clean rooms. I assume that’s why you’re asking—you want to get inside one.”
“You assume exactly right,” I said. “But do you know offhand which ones are vacant?”
“I will in a minute.” Neal drew his cell phone from his pocket, swiped at its face and pressed it a few times, then said, “Either coincidentally or by design, this one doesn’t have any guests in it.” He gestured toward room 312.
I couldn’t help smiling. Apparently there was a special app for resort employees. “Then can we go in?”
“Why not?” He pulled the card key from his pocket and pressed it against the raised metal gadget attached to the door handle. The light on it turned green and I heard a click. Neal took hold of the handle and pressed it down, and the next moment, we were in the room.
And a very nice room it was. It appeared to be a mini-apartment, with a kitchen area as well as a living room with a sofa, which was probably a pull-out bed, facing a wall-mounted television. There was a door that most likely led to a closet, and an open one for the bathroom. Pictures on the wall appeared to be mostly of the lake just below the resort.
“Not bad,” Reed said, putting his arm around my shoulders. “I’m sure it’s not cheap.” He looked at Neal.
“Good guess,” my brother said.
“And the room below us is about the same?” I asked.
“Nearly identical.”
I wandered for just a few minutes, allowing my imagination to go to work. Henry Schulzer had chosen a room just like this, and he had apparently stayed here for a while with his two dogs—on the second floor, not the first, so he had to take them down in the elevator or stairway when they needed to go outside.
I gave my imagination free rein as I examined the place. How Henry Schulzer had died, exactly, still hadn’t been made public. Had he been in his bed, asleep? How had the killer gotten in? Henry’s dogs had barked, alerting neighbors, but had they started barking when company arrived or not till their master was hurt?
I looked into the kitchen. It contained a small refrigerator, a stove, a toaster oven. Had Henry invited a guest in and served drinks or food—only to have the person slip poison into whatever he was ingesting?
Or—I opened a top drawer near the sink … and found, as I’d wondered, some flatware—including a couple of sharp carving knives.
Could one of those have been used?
Or maybe the bad guy—or girl—had brought a weapon along, premeditating what they were about to do here.
Or—
The unit’s door slammed open and I screamed, though just a little. Were we about to be attacked? But surely, with the police just downstairs …
The police. That’s who had opened the door. One of my friendly nemeses now stood there: Detective Wayne Crunoll.
“Why am I not surprised to see you, Carrie?” he asked. As usual when I saw him, he was dressed professionally in a white shirt with dark slacks. No beard shadow today on his pudgy cheeks, but there was a nasty scowl on his face.
Reed apparently noticed that scowl, since, nice guy that he was, he maneuvered around to place his shoulder between the detective and me. But I took a step so Reed and I were side-by-side as I made myself smile at the d
etective.
“I’m certainly not surprised to see you here, Detective,” I said. “But I figured you’d be hanging out on the next floor down, which I understand is the crime scene.”
“I was, but people heard footsteps in the stairwell, then up here. There are still hotel patrons staying here, but we decided it was prudent for one of us to come take a look at what was going on, just in case we might have a … situation brewing.”
“Like a serial killer?” I asked.
“That or something else,” Wayne replied. “I gather we have a something else—a nosy citizen perhaps butting in again.”
“But this time, the nosy citizen has kind of been asked to get involved, at least in scheduling police interviews for people who were with the victim last night before he was … harmed.”
Wayne sighed. “Yes, you’re right about that. And—well, when I was told to come up here and take a look around, my first thought was that it could be you up here snooping. Someone mentioned seeing you in the resort bar tonight, so it was a logical conclusion on my part.”
Neal had planted himself near the detective. Playing his real role as a hotel employee, he asked, “Is there anything the Knobcone Heights Resort can do to help out in your investigation? I’m sure you’ve talked to people with a lot higher authority around here than I have, but I know we’re all supposed to cooperate with you.”
“Right, so the resort won’t get blamed for what happened. That remains to be seen, of course. Anyway … well, unless you’re renting a room on this floor, Carrie, I’d suggest you all leave.”
I thought of a million reasons to protest—well, maybe not that many, but a few. I’d seen what I hoped to, though, so I said, “Sure, Wayne.” I paused. “But do you have any idea when the room where … where it happened is likely to be released?”
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