Murder's No Votive Confidence

by Christin Brecher

  About an hour later, I was done with the hotel and restaurant décor, but I had not found any evidence to convict or acquit Bill. My last duty was to put the party gifts in each guest’s room. Emily had already put my candles in the five rooms occupied by the Sterling-Handler party last night, but there was one room I wanted to see. I wanted a better look at Simon Sterling’s room.

  Chapter 7

  I had originally expected to have Maude’s help in delivering the votive candles to each guest’s room, but we were all pitching in today with the Duffys’ absence. Frank had kindly found a cart for me that would allow me to load up my candles and deliver them to all one hundred rooms in one trip. As I rolled the cart to a service elevator off the kitchen, however, I realized that without Maude I had no keys to enter the rooms. I headed out to the lobby to see if Frank could help me out.

  In one motion, he handed me a master passkey from a cubby under the reception desk as he picked up a ringing phone. Frank was doing a good job keeping things together. Down two staff members this morning, the concierge looked a little haggard, but I had faith that the Melville would be good to go.

  The passkey was attached to a ring that included a couple of larger, old-fashioned keys as well. I knew at least one of them was for our storage room, which was part of the original house that had not been fully upgraded. It took all of one second, but holding the batch of keys in my hand, I decided to visit all of the Sterling-Handler rooms while I had the opportunity to enter them. My cart was waiting for me when I returned, and I took the elevator up to the third floor. Arriving at the inn’s top floor, I headed down the hallway, stopping in each room, one by one. At the end of the hallway, I paused in front of the suite in which Jessica was staying. Her door was right next to that of her mother’s.

  I pushed the cart down the hallway, then knocked on Jessica’s door, to be safe. When there was no answer, I unlocked the door and crept inside.

  Poor Maude. She must have left before she had tidied the room this morning. It was a mess. Clothes on a chair, bed unmade. Thinking of Maude and Bill upset me, and I looked out of the bedroom window to calm myself. I walked closer and opened the window a smidge to let in a sea breeze from the harbor. The wind, however, caught some papers on an old desk and blew them to the floor. Quickly, I closed the window and gathered the papers.

  As I put them back on the desk, something caught my eye. It was a black-and-white photo of a field. On closer inspection, I realized that the trees in the image were in perfect lines, too perfect to be natural, and I decided it was of some sort of farm. I opened a folder that was also on the desk.

  I’m no real estate expert, but I could see that Jessica Sterling had brought a mountain of paperwork that looked a lot like the papers I’d heard described of her father’s last deal, his failed attempt to sell his olive groves in Italy. I wondered if perhaps Jessica’s invitation to Simon to walk her down the aisle had been motivated by her desire to finish the deal. I did have to wonder who would get Simon’s share in the land now that he was dead.

  My mind was racing in all directions when I heard footsteps in the hallway and a key in the room’s lock. I closed the folder, and ran to the closet so Jessica would at least find me studying her wedding dress rather than snooping through her private papers. I actually did want a look at Jessica’s dress. I had pictures of it that I used to decorate the original unity candle, but I really wanted to make the new unity candles stand out. If there was a certain kind of bead or applique I had missed in the photos, I wanted the opportunity to copy it.

  Two steps away from the closet, I realized that finding me admiring her dress was just as odd. Worse, Jessica might decide it was a bad omen, and Emily would be furious. I was wondering if I could fit under the bed in the time that it took to open a door when the key stopped.

  “I need my sweater,” Jessica said to someone.

  I made a desperate dash toward the curtains, as if the old movie gimmick stood a chance.

  “Take my blue one,” said her mother, her voice coming from the threshold of her door. “It’s better for the weather.”

  With that, I heard Jessica walk to her mother’s room. I realized, too, that the living quarters connected through interior doors. I hoped that the women had not unlocked these doors in order to enter in and out of each other’s rooms.

  Creeping back across the room, I tidied the papers.

  “I’m not going to lie to you, Mom,” I heard Jessica say through the closed door. “Your lack of faith in me is hurtful. I’ve got everything covered.”

  “You can never be too careful,” said her mother.

  “We went over this yesterday,” said Jessica. “We don’t need to again.”

  I was dying to know what “this” was, but a floorboard under me squeaked as I took a step back. The women stopped talking. I could not be sure if it was because they had heard me, but I didn’t wait. I tiptoed across the room and out of Jessica’s front door as quickly as Tinker had fled Simon’s room this morning.

  Out in the hall, I ran back to my cart. Relieved that Jessica and her mom had not caught me, I resumed my walk back down the hallway to the elevator, disappointed by the fact that I had not been able to enter Mrs. Sterling’s room. Overall, however, I was impressed with myself as I headed downstairs. My first bit of sleuthing had yielded a couple of results. For one, Jessica had been actively thinking about the land deal. Number two, Jessica and her mother were stressed. Given the morning that had passed and the wedding ahead their emotions were understandable, but I wondered what I should make of their words.

  I realized that there were secrets in the Melville. Figuring out which ones were important might lead me to Simon’s killer.

  When the service elevator opened on the second floor, the first thing I saw was yellow tape over Simon Sterling’s room. I made a mental note to tell Emily. There was no way we were going to have guests focusing on the fact that they were sleeping near a murdered man’s room. Next to Simon’s room was Joe’s. I had not remembered that the two men’s rooms were side by side. I slipped the passkey into Joe’s lock and entered.

  Similar to Jessica’s room, the groom’s bed was unmade. His suitcase lay half open. I peeked into Joe’s trash bin. There was a tag for a new pair of socks from H&M, which I thought was a good call on his part after having seen his holey attire this morning. I also spied a note that said: Let’s meet after dinner in the Game Room? I wondered who had written it—Simon or Tony?—and if it mattered to the murder.

  On the desk, I noticed the usual stuff one would expect to see from a groom. There was a passport, cufflinks, a lightly scented pink scarf that Jessica had probably given him to think of her before bed. There was a note from a jeweler with a valuation of the ring that was so expensive I can’t even repeat it . . . but there were five zeros after the number two. In my life, I never knew a piece of jewelry could be worth so much. There was no yellow tape in front of the interior door connecting Joe’s room to Simon’s. It was like an open invitation to enter Simon’s room. I slipped the key into the connecting door.

  Nothing had changed much since I’d been in Simon’s room earlier. The bed was still made, Simon’s suitcase was meticulously unpacked. There was only one can of cat food that I could see. I made a note of the brand so I could pick some up for Tinker. The only thing out of place was an open desk drawer.

  Inside, I saw a passport. I really wanted to open it, but I was afraid of fingerprints. Beside the passport was a bag of tobacco, next to which was a set of cufflinks, a comb, some red ribbon neatly rolled, and a small bottle of hair gel in one of those 2.5ml travel bottles. I knew it was hair gel because of a handwritten sticker across it that advertised it as such. I quickly returned to Joe’s room to look at the handwritten invitation to poker. The handwriting was one and the same. Simon had evidently been the one to think of playing cards last night. I thought about Mrs. Sterling’s comments about Simon and his penchant for messing with people. Her description fit with Joe’s, Ton
y’s, and Bill’s feeling that the game had not been played fairly. I could see how Tony or Joe might have ended up in an altercation with Simon, but not Bill. Bill had had no skin in the game. He had just been pouring drinks. Yet for some reason, Bill had taken twenty-five hundred dollars from Simon, and had punched him, while mysteriously abandoning his responsibility to take care of the candle.

  I noticed that the gift box with my votive candle was shut, but I could tell from the aroma that Simon had at least peeked inside. Silly, but I hoped he’d liked my work.

  Deciding that there was nothing else to see, I left his room through Joe’s door and delivered the rest of my candles to the other rooms. Tony Carlson’s room was the last door at the end of the hallway. I had just reached it when I got a text from Emily to meet her.

  Big news, her text said.

  I wavered at Tony’s door. If something related to the case had been uncovered, I wanted to find out right away. The more information I had, the easier it would be for me to know what I was looking for. I headed downstairs with my empty cart, and parked it in front of our staging room. Inside, I saw Emily’s feet propped against a table.

  “Hello!” I said, leaving the cart outside the room. “All done. What’s up?”

  “I’ve got good stuff,” said Emily from a chair. “Oh, look at my swollen feet. I’ve barely been working three hours. I don’t know how I’m going to do the Litskys’ wedding next month.”

  “I’ll help. What’s your good stuff?”

  “Gina Ginelli,” said Emily with full-on jazz hands.

  I sat on the edge of the table, wishing I had poked around Tony’s room.

  “I saw her,” said Emily. “In the lobby.”

  “Why was she here?” I said.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “She poked her head in, smiled when I started to wave, and then left. I didn’t get to take a picture. I want a picture!”

  I looked at Emily’s tired feet.

  “I heard she’s staying down the beach path,” I said. “Are you up for it?”

  “Are you kidding?” she said and looked at me like I was a fool to think otherwise.

  “That’s why I love you,” I said. “Guess what?”

  “What?”

  “I broke into a lot of rooms.” I shared my discoveries to Emily, room by room.

  “I hope no one saw you,” she said after I’d ended with my visit to Simon’s room. “What if there really is a murderer hanging around the Melville, and he saw you? I mean, you could be in danger.”

  “I seriously doubt that,” I said. “I was just putting my candles in the rooms, as directed.”

  Emily opened her mouth to disagree, but she didn’t have to. Proving her point, the door to our room slammed shut, followed by the sound of the lock turning.

  Chapter 8

  Instinctively, I picked up an empty glass vase next to me, and held it like a baseball bat. Emily looked at me like I had seen one too many dead bodies this morning.

  “Hello?” she said calmly to the whitewashed door. “Frank, we’re in here.”

  There was no answer.

  “Hello?” she said again, still polite but with a little less humor.

  We heard movement on the other side of the door, but no one answered. Emily and I looked at each other, saw nothing helpful in either of each other’s eyes, then looked back at the door. Emily was no longer feeling friendly. Without shifting her gaze from the door, she grabbed a bag of rice that the guests were meant to toss tomorrow night.

  “Who’s out there?” I said in the bravest voice I could muster. The fact that I could speak gave me some confidence. “Open the door.”

  No one opened the door. Instead, we heard footsteps leaving.

  “What the—” Emily said to me in a whisper even though we were alone. “He left! Did he leave? He did. Unlock the door.” She hugged her rice. “No, don’t unlock the door. Should we unlock the door?”

  “How am I going to unlock the door? The keys are on the cart outside.”

  “Someone took the keys and locked us in.” Her eyes popped out more than her belly.

  I nodded in agreement with her summary.

  “The murderer?” she said.

  “No,” I said, worried. She needed to calm down. I feared she might go into labor.

  “I’ll text Frank.” She looked at her phone, then at me. “What if Frank’s the murderer? I’ll text Andy.”

  “I’ll get us out of here,” I said.

  “Don’t!” said Emily, hugging her bag of rice more tightly. “OK, do. I have to finish the place cards for dinner. I am not getting paid enough.”

  Emily continued to speak to herself as she typed on her phone. I crossed the room, took a deep breath, and reached my hand slowly toward the doorknob like it might be covered in hot lava. My heart sank when I confirmed that the door was locked tightly from the outside and that there was no way of unlocking it from the inside.

  I was about to bang on the door in hopes that someone was back from lunch to help us, when there was a thud from behind me. I spun around, afraid something had happened to Emily, but she was fine. She was sitting on her chair and pointing to the small window in the room that looked out over the back of the restaurant, to the parking lot. I held up my vase, but I saw nothing.

  I walked toward the window.

  “What are you doing?” said Emily. “Maybe he’s trying to get in through the window to kill us.”

  “He locks the door and then breaks in through the window?” I said. “That’s the stupidest killer alive.” I lifted my vase higher. “Come on,” I said to the window. Emily crouched behind me.

  There was another pounce on the window. A black ball hit the pane with force, then dropped. I ran to the window and opened it.

  “It’s the cat,” I said.

  Sure enough, Tinker was below me. I made a mental note that shoving a towel into the back window was not enough to stop this mad cat. He was circling the bottom of the window, looking for another way to attack, but looked up and mewed when he saw my face.

  “This is not the time,” I said to him, but I now worried about my charge escaping, on top of being locked in a room.

  Emily budged in next to me.

  “Hey,” she cried out to the police car in the parking lot. She waved her arms, but the officer in the car was still looking at his phone.

  Tinker hissed. He was not pleased, and I wondered what his issue was this time. Having gotten my attention, however, he jumped onto the top of the white picket fence that separated the parking lot from the building and began to walk across its thin edge.

  “I’ve got to go after the cat,” I said to Emily.

  “Don’t you dare leave me here,” she said with the fury of ten thousand wedding planners on a bad day.

  “I’ll grab the cat, then get Frank to open the door,” I said, my body half out the window. Fortunately, the screens hadn’t yet been installed for the summer season, but it was a bit more of a drop than I’d expected. Regaining my balance, I looked up at Emily.

  “Just go,” she said. “I have to go to the bathroom for the sixth time today.”

  “OK,” I said, but I was already off and running after Tinker before she could say another word.

  When I reached the end of the fence, I stopped in my tracks. Tinker was seated on the top of the fence, looking into the mid-distance in a very Gina Ginelli sort of way. I followed his gaze.

  I had to give it to this cat. He had a good nose for juicy stuff. Across the parking lot, I saw Mrs. Sterling get into a rental car. I wondered if she’d heard me speaking to Emily and had locked me in. But why?

  I decided to find out. Grabbing Tinker, I waited until Mrs. Sterling’s car pulled out, then ran to the police car and rapped on the window. The officer looked at me with a blank stare, then opened his window. I thought about asking him to follow Mrs. Sterling while I helped Emily, it was his job after all, but what would I say? The bride’s mother had left the inn? That didn’t seem susp
icious.

  “The party planner for this weekend’s wedding is locked in the storage room and I need to get going,” I said. “No cats at the inn.” I lifted Tinker for emphasis. “Can you let Frank know while I get this little guy out of here? Thanks.”

  I didn’t wait for him to answer. I jumped into my car and hit the road. Watching my rearview mirror for the second time today, I was relieved to see the officer get out of his car.

  Fortunately, there was only one main drag for a few miles, so I pressed hard on the accelerator and sped ahead to catch up to Mrs. Sterling. As I did, I wondered what I would do once I found her. I also realized that I was basically following the instructions of a cat, which made me feel sort of silly. No, very silly. I replayed the last few minutes and tried to put things into some sort of narrative. First, I’d been chatting rather openly, I now had to admit, to Emily about sneaking into people’s rooms and snooping about. I’d spoken freely about the real estate papers I’d seen in Jessica’s room, the conversation between mother and daughter, the note in Joe’s trash bin, and also the contents of Simon’s drawer. Then, someone had locked me and Emily in the storage room. Why? To spook us?

  My phone rang. I noticed Emily’s name on the screen and hit reply.

  “Where are you?” she said. “We’re such idiots.”

  “What do you mean?” I said.

  “Frank opened the door,” she said. “Your keys were right where you left them, but he said the door has a knack for locking on its own when it slams shut. It’s one of the old locks. One of the florists was probably leaving and a draft pulled the door closed. Oh, Stella, I swear we’re starting to become those paranoid kinds of people.”