The Inn at Holiday Bay: Letters in the Library

by Kathi Daley

  “I found the suitcases,” Georgia said as she rolled out the first of two large, stackable cases.

  “Great. Let’s set them aside. The smaller ones that will work as carry-ons are nested inside.” Now that we had moved a third of the items from the room into the hallway, I stood and scanned the rest. “I think the things from Ben’s office might be back in that corner. I remember now using rubber tubs for them, and I see some tubs there. There is some furniture in the way, but if we shove it aside, we should be able to get to it. Help me with the sofa.”

  “Oh nice,” Georgia said. “Are you thinking of using some of this stuff in the inn? I bet the sofa would work in the sitting area of one of the suites.”

  I paused. “I’m not sure what I am going to do with this stuff. I didn’t think past putting it in here and heading east.” I positioned the sofa against the opposite wall that we’d just cleared. “I guess I will need to make another trip here at some point to go through everything. I can’t store it forever.”

  I crossed the room to see what was beneath a blanket that had been thrown over whatever was stacked behind the sofa. My heart stopped when I saw it was Johnathan’s crib. Georgia laced her fingers through mine and gave my hand a squeeze.

  “Do you want to take a break?” she asked.

  I couldn’t speak, so I just shook my head. She seemed to understand because she gently lifted one of the panels of the crib Ben and I had spent two months looking for and set it to the side.

  “Ben and I had very different ideas of what sort of crib Johnathan should have,” I whispered as Georgia came back for the second of four panels. “I had my heart set on a white antique crib that I had seen in a tiny shop downtown, while Ben was very firm that his son was going to have a manly crib made of dark wood with the logo of the San Francisco Giants painted on the headboard.”

  Georgia ran her hand over the soft brown wood of the antique Jenny Lind crib. “I see you found a compromise.”

  I nodded as a single tear streamed down my cheek. “After a lot of negotiation.” I placed my hand on my heart. “Johnathan did have a San Francisco Giants comforter for his crib, but he also had a mobile with fairyland creatures I loved hanging over his head.” I took a deep breath. “God, I miss him.”

  Georgia stopped what she was doing and hugged me. “I know, sweetie. And I know you will continue to miss him every day of your life.”

  She was right. I could move to the farthest reaches of the earth and start a dozen new lives, but nothing was going to keep me from longing for the piece of my soul that had died along with my husband and baby.

  Once Georgia had cleared the crib, it was possible to squeeze through and reach the black and gray rubber tubs I’d packed the things from Ben’s office into. I pushed one of the tubs toward Georgia, who pulled it into the center of the room. I repeated that exercise five times until all six tubs were in one place and still allowed us to move around.

  I opened the lid of the first, which contained items from his desk: the photos he had sitting there, pens and pencils, paper clips, a stapler, and the other things you’d find on the average desktop.

  Georgia picked up a framed photo and looked at it. “What a wonderful photo”

  I nodded.

  “You both look so happy.”

  I took the photo and looked at it. “We were happy. Very happy. The photo was taken shortly after we purchased our condo. We’d taken a drive down to the beach just to get out of the house. It was windy and cold, so the place was deserted, but we were young and happy and didn’t care that our toes were turning blue. Ben, who liked to snap photos, brought his camera, so when another couple happened along, he asked them if they would take a picture of us. I remember that my face was frozen, which might account for the overly animated smile, but Ben was relaxed and happy and charming, and I never wanted the day to end.”

  “Wasn’t Ben normally relaxed, happy, and charming?” Georgia asked.

  I hugged the photo to my chest. “Not always. Ben was a good man, but he was also serious, with serious goals. He didn’t take a lot of time off to play on the beach. That afternoon was special.”

  “Do you want to set the photo aside to bring back with us?”

  I nodded. “I do.” I slipped the photo into my purse.

  The first tub didn’t result in anything of value other than the photo, so we opened the second. That one and the third contained files. We didn’t have time to go through them now, so we decided to bring them all with us and then sort through them at home. Another tub was filled with books, the fifth with the things Ben had on the office wall and shelves: certificates, trophies, and diplomas. The last tub held his laptop and printer. I figured we didn’t need the printer, so we loaded the files and laptop into the two carry-ons, then began restacking the things from the hall back into the storage room.

  “This looks like it was Ben’s desk calendar,” Georgia said. “I think we should take it. Is there room in that suitcase?”

  “It’s pretty full.”

  “I’ll put it in my purse,” Georgia offered.

  “You know, Ben had an organizer that he carried around all the time, even after organizer apps became available on cell phones. He said he had spent years developing a system and wasn’t interested in changing just because technology had advanced. Did you happen to see it? It was black leather and zipped around three sides. The cover was old. I think he’d had it since before college, so the corners were worn. He just got new pages for it every year.”

  Georgia put her hands on her hips. “I don’t remember seeing it, but we didn’t look through the tub with the books. I wonder if it could be in there.”

  “Maybe.” I began lifting the corners of the tubs, looking for the right one. When I found it, I took off the lid and began stacking books on the floor. I emptied the entire tub but didn’t find it.

  “Do you think he had it with him at the time of the accident?” Georgia asked.

  He probably did. He was, after all, coming home from work when the accident occurred. “Yes, I think he might have.”

  “Do you have the items from the car? The personal items that must have been returned to you after it was towed?”

  Suddenly I felt nauseated. I sat down on the floor and lowered my head to my lap.

  “Are you okay?” Georgia asked.

  I nodded. “I just need a minute.”

  “Of course. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought up the car.”

  I took deep breaths to fight off the panic attack that I could feel coming on. What happened was horrific, but it was months ago. I needed to pull myself together. “There was a bag,” I choked out. “I never opened it. I couldn’t.”

  “I totally understand,” Georgia said. It was then I noticed the tears streaming down her face. “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

  I took a deep breath in, held it, and blew it out slowly. “No. It’s okay. I think you are right. The organizer was most likely with Ben and was most likely returned in the bag with the other things in the car. If Ben was intentionally run off the road, the organizer, which was almost a journal of his life, might contain a clue.” I took a moment and tried to remember. “The bag was dark blue. One of Ben’s colleagues brought it to me. It was a duffel bag, and the person who brought it to me said it contained personal items from the car and Ben’s desk at work.”

  Georgia walked toward the back of the room. “I’ll look for it.”

  I went out into the hallway that linked the storage rooms in this section of the warehouse. I walked to the end of one row and down the next. I knew the organizer could hold an important clue, but that blue duffel was one thing I never wanted to see again. I walked around for a good twenty minutes, then returned to find that Georgia had moved all the furniture and boxes into the room and was ready to close it up.

  “Did you find it?” I asked.

  “I did. I packed it in one of the carry-on bags. The cover has blood on it, so I don’t recommend that you try to d
eal with it now. We can look through everything when we get back to Holiday Bay.”

  I nodded, taking one last look at the room filled with everything in the world that was left from my life with Ben and Johnathan. Everything except my memories, that is. Those, I was sure, would live on for eternity.

  Chapter 11

  Georgia and I were both exhausted when we got home, so we left everything we had brought back with us in the suitcases and went to bed. By the time I woke the next day, it was well into the morning, and even though I had gotten an adequate amount of sleep, I was tempted to ignore the files that awaited me and pull the covers over my head. If not for the delicious scent of something baking, going back to sleep was most likely exactly what I would have done.

  “Morning, Rufus,” I said to the cat who had slept curled up on the pillow next to me. “I think it is time to get up.”

  Rufus yawned and stretched.

  “I know it is tempting to hide out in here where memories I have worked hard to suppress can’t find us, but it smells like Georgia has made cinnamon rolls.”

  Rufus rolled over and snuggled in close to me.

  “Yes, I know that today is going to be tough. Going through Ben’s computer, his files, and his organizer, is not something I am looking forward to.” I cringed at the thought of the blood Georgia had mentioned. “But if someone intentionally caused the accident that killed him and Johnathan, we need to figure out who is responsible. I can’t abide the idea that someone might get away with something so unimaginable.”

  Rufus butted his head up under my chin and began to purr. I buried my face in his soft fur, shed a few tears to hopefully get them out of the way, and went into the shower.

  “Good morning. How are you feeling today?” Georgia asked as she handed me a cup of coffee when I joined her.

  “Okay, I guess.” I glanced at the files she had unpacked from the carry-ons and stacked on the dining table. I noticed that Ben’s desk calendar was on one side, and the pages from his organizer, minus the bloody cover, was next to it. “It looks like we are ready to get to work.”

  “We are, but let’s eat first. I made sausage and cinnamon rolls. I know they are your favorite.”

  “They are.” I slid onto one of the barstools that lined the counter.

  “I spoke to Colt,” Georgia said. “I told him that we had everything we felt was important from Ben’s office and planned to look through it all. He said he’d stop in later so we could catch up. He seemed impressed that we had flown all the way to San Francisco to gather everything.”

  “He offered to do that exact same thing himself,” I pointed out.

  Georgia slid a browned roll onto a plate. “True, but hunting up evidence is his job. He is, after all, the chief of police.”

  “If someone intentionally killed my husband and son, there is no way I am leaving things to the cops. If there is a clue in those files, we’ll find it.”

  Georgia set a plate in front of me. “I’m with you every step of the way. I’ve cleared my calendar and I am all yours for as long as it takes.”

  “Thanks.” I cut off a piece of the gooey roll. “I appreciate that.” I glanced at the table. “I see that you extracted the organizer from the leather case.”

  She nodded. “I didn’t think you needed to wake up to that. I saved it, though, just in case you wanted it for some reason. If you don’t, I can get rid of it.”

  I hesitated. “Thanks. I’m not sure if I want it or not. For now, you are correct, I don’t want to deal with such a vivid reminder of what occurred. At least not today.”

  After we finished eating, Georgia cleared up the dishes and I tackled Ben’s desk calendar and organizer. I hoped if something odd had happened, I would notice an anomaly and recognize it as such. According to his desk calendar, on the day Ben died, he’d appeared in court at nine a.m., then had a meeting with the sister of the victim in his current murder case at eleven thirty. Testifying in court and meeting with the relatives of victims was part of his usual routine as a homicide detective, so I didn’t see anything odd there. After his interview with the victim’s sister, he had a lunch meeting with his old partner, who had since retired. According to the desk calendar, they were to meet at one o’clock at a coffee shop near the police station. There were a few other notes, including a reminder to pick Johnathan up from my sister’s after work. I looked carefully at each entry, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. I then checked his organizer for the same day, which duplicated his calendar in a way, but there was additional room for notes and even pockets for items such as receipts. I think that Ben’s favorite part of the organizer was the goals section, which took up an entire space at the start of each year.

  I noticed all the same meetings and reminders mentioned on the desk calendar in the organizer. There was also a note to pick up his blue suit at the cleaner’s and a reminder to send his Aunt Violet flowers for her birthday. I paused as I read the scribbles in his handwriting. I never had picked up the suit or sent the flowers. Not that anyone would blame me, but still, I wondered what had become of the suit. Unfortunately, Ben’s Aunt Violet had passed away the summer after Ben’s death, so I’d never be able to get those flowers to her on his behalf.

  “How can I help?” Georgia asked after finishing up in the kitchen and sitting down across from me.

  “I’m not sure. I think I might have better luck with the desk calendar and the organizer, so why don’t you start with the files?”

  “Okay. What am I looking for?”

  I had no idea. “Ben didn’t keep files on all his cases at home. In fact, other than an occasional file on a tricky case he wanted to spend extra time with, he rarely brought work home with him. At least not work relating to open cases. He did like to mess around with cold cases as sort of a hobby.”

  “A hobby?”

  I nodded. “He looked into unsolved cases and revisited all the information collected to see if he could find something the detective who originally investigated it had missed. If I had to guess, most if not all the files that were in his home office will relate to old cases. I guess if you see something that looks to have been current in November two years ago, set it aside. And, of course, if you see anything at all with Karen or Mark Stinson’s name on it, or any files on crimes that took place in Indiana, set those aside.”

  “Okay. I’ll do my best,” Georgia said, opening the first file.

  “By the way, when you spoke to Willa about postponing our meeting about the old resort, did you set a new date to meet?” I asked as I began to work my way backward through the desk calendar and organizer from the day he died.

  “We agreed to tomorrow morning at eleven. If that isn’t going to work for you, I can call her again. She was very understanding that our plans had changed, and intrigued by the fact that we had found letters dating back to the nineteen forties, so she had no problem rescheduling.”

  “Tomorrow should be fine,” I answered. “Unless we pick up a clue here today and need to follow up on that instead.”

  “If we need to change the date for our get-together again, I can call her later,” Georgia offered.

  I paused at an entry reminding Ben to take supplies to Roxi. Who was Roxi and what supplies? I suddenly realized that there could be an unexpected downside to going through Ben’s stuff. I knew in my heart Ben loved me and would never cheat on me, but after finding a single mysterious entry, I found that I was obsessed with finding out who Roxi was. I supposed I could call his old partner to ask him if he knew, but I was supposed to be keeping a low profile on things. Because I didn’t know if Ben had been murdered, I didn’t know if there was someone out there I shouldn’t trust. And if there was someone I shouldn’t trust, I had no idea who that might be. It was best to stay off the radar of whoever might be keeping an eye on a possible situation.

  “What did you work out with the Valentine’s Ball committee?” I asked, more to distract myself from Roxi than because I really cared.

  “W
hen I called to tell them that I had to go out of town unexpectedly and wouldn’t be able to make the meeting, I also said I wasn’t sure I would still be able to volunteer. They seemed fine with my showing up if I could but weren’t worried about it if I couldn’t.” Georgia held up a file. “Here is a recent case. Or at least it was recent then.”

  I held out a hand and Georgia gave me the file. The case involved a man named Denver Woodford, who had been shot while getting cash at an ATM, and a witness identified only as Roxi, who had apparently seen the whole thing. I guess that answered the question of who Roxi was. I supposed she might have been staying in a safe house, the supplies Ben was to bring to her to see her through. The case of who killed Denver Woodford would most likely be resolved by now. I did wonder how it had all turned out and what had happened to Roxi, but that was a mystery I would need to look in to on another day. I set the file aside. It didn’t appear that it was in any way related to his death or to the deaths of Mark and Karen Stinson.

  “Do you think it is odd that no one from the precinct came by to collect Ben’s files after he passed?” Georgia said.

  “I never stopped to think about it. I’m not sure that anyone even knew he had the cold case files. As I recall, he would copy the files of cases he was interested in and work on them at home. He left the original files in the file room downtown, and I don’t think he discussed his hobby with the other detectives he worked with, so it is possible that no one even knew he had them.”

  “You don’t think that Ben asked his colleagues for help or input?” Georgia asked.

  “Not on the cold case files. He looked at them the way a lot of people look at the Sunday crossword puzzle. They were puzzles for him to work on, almost as a means of relaxation. I know that might sound odd because real people had died, and their deaths had gone unpunished, but that was the way he looked at them.” Now, though, I picked up the file that he must have been working on when he was killed and wondered about it. It would seem odd that no one had come looking for it unless it was simply a copy of the official file and he’d left the original at work.