“Or throw suspicion your way,” the sergeant said, nodding.
Lydia felt another wave of shock wash over her. Who would do such a thing? Though everyone was friendlier with Misty than with her, that didn’t meant that anyone actually hated her. Did it?
“Unofficially, I’m going to clear you,” Sergeant Gonzales announced. “You haven’t been officially cleared yet, not until we get a better timeline.”
“Thank you?” Lydia said, surprised. Why would the sergeant clear her like that? Did he have somebody else in mind for the killer?
Or maybe this was some twisted game, and he was going to keep a very careful eye on her, giving her space and time to implicate herself?
She nearly snorted out loud again. This wasn’t some sort of misdirection. Sergeant Gonzales was merely smart, not some sort of super genius detective like she saw on TV.
The Sergeant leaned forward against the table again. “We’re a small department. It’s just me and Deputy Markus,” he said, his voice taking on a confidential tone. “We don’t have any detectives on staff. We’re used to dealing with drunken tourists, not murderers. So we’re borrowing a detective from Yakima to help us with this case.”
The look of relief on the sergeant’s face was almost comical.
“That’s good,” Lydia said, though she still felt uncomfortable with the entire thing. Who would have killed Schooner Thomas? Was there really someone that angry in town? And why implicate her?
“So the department would like to engage one of your rooms for the next two weeks,” Sergeant Gonzales said, returning to business.
Lydia opened her mouth to say no, it was tourist season, she was booked solid. Then she closed it again.
She actually wasn’t booked solid, not really. She had at least one open room every day for the next couple of weeks. Starting the fourth of July, she was completely booked until September, but for now, she could, in fact, fit someone in.
“All right,” Lydia said slowly. “If it’s only for a couple of weeks.”
“Probably won’t even be that long,” the sergeant assured her. “Just that these detectives like to see the crime scene themselves. As if we can’t photograph it well enough for them.” Sergeant Gonzales indulged himself with his own eyeroll. “But we’re grateful for the help,” he added quickly. “He’s on a per diem from his department, so he’ll pay you directly.”
“When does he arrive?” Lydia asked. She’d place him in the Marigold room. It was on the third floor and one of her favorites, the walls painted in a delicate shade of yellow with lovely, burnt-orange colored duvet covers. It also had its own ensuite, which she assumed the detective would need.
“He’s already here,” Sergeant Gonzales said. “He’s at the crime scene with Deputy Markus. He’ll check into your establishment later this afternoon.”
“I see,” Lydia said. Had the police department arranged for the detective to stay somewhere else, and had those accommodations fallen though? Or had someone else that the sergeant had “cleared” of the murder suddenly proven untrustworthy?
“Now, remember, we don’t want everyone in town to know about Schooner’s death,” the sergeant said. “Not until we make the official announcement.”
“They already know,” Lydia said. “They watched the ambulance come and saw a body covered in a sheet being taken out of the house.”
Sergeant Gonzales nodded sheepishly. “Yeah, that’s what we figured. But all they know is that it’s a death, not a murder.”
“People saw me walking here today with you,” Lydia said. “And they’ll see that a detective has arrived.”
“True,” the sergeant said. He sighed. “But I’d really like for Bernard Thomas to hear the word about his father’s death from us and not from a random stranger.”
“Where is Bernard living these days?” Lydia asked. “I don’t think I’ve seen him since high school.”
“In Yakima,” Sergeant Gonzales said. “He recently lost his job, isn’t at his apartment, and isn’t answering his phone. We don’t want to just leave a voicemail message about the death of his father. But we haven’t been able to locate him.”
Had Bernard also been killed? That would be awful. Lydia didn’t know much about Bernard, barely remembered him from high school, but if he’d taken after Schooner…
“Are we finished here?” Lydia said when the sergeant seemed to fall into contemplation.
“We are,” he said, nodding. He stood up. “Thank you for your time. I’ll send you a message when we reach Bernard.”
“Good luck,” Lydia said as she stood.
“Thank you,” Sergeant Gonzales said. “We’ll find the killer,” he assured her.
Lydia walked slowly back to the B&B, soaking in the heat of the day.
But even that wasn’t enough to fully warm her. Not when there was a murderer running around in her small town.
8
“So what did he want?” Misty asked, pouncing on Lydia as soon as she walked into the B&B.
It was nearly three, and Lydia still had two rooms to turn over for guests. Fortunately, the Marigold room was already clean. “He wanted to rent a room for a detective who’s coming here from Yakima,” Lydia said as she walked directly toward the stairs, hoping to discourage Misty.
She should have known better. While Misty was friendly with everyone, that also meant she knew everyone’s business, sometimes better than they knew it themselves.
“Ohhh,” Misty said as she followed Lydia up the stairs. “That’s good. Now, isn’t Sergeant Gonzales a handsome man?”
“Are you crazy?” Lydia said. “He’s way too old for me. And he’s a cop.”
She paused when she reached the second floor landing to look back at Misty. The other woman was dressed in a polo shirt, a maroon color that nicely highlighted her dark skin, with a pair of casual tan slacks. Ed and Alan would proclaim that Misty had mastered the art of what looked good on her. Despite being so short, she always appeared taller, primarily because she wore longer shirts and then didn’t tuck them in, so she wasn’t cutting herself in half, as it were.
“The Sergeant is recently single and would be good for you,” Misty insisted.
“I’m better off alone,” Lydia insisted. And she would be. Sergeant Gonzales was far too angry looking all the time. She did not need to deal with that. Particularly not with Theo and his brooding in town.
“Ah well, you can’t blame me for trying,” Misty said.
Lydia merely rolled her eyes and continued walking up the stairs.
“So have they cleared you as a suspect?” Misty asked.
“Unofficially cleared,” Lydia said, wanting to emphasize that.
“Even though they found Schooner stabbed with one of our letter openers?” Misty said.
“How did you know that?” Lydia said. She stopped on the landing between the second and third floors and turned to face the other woman.
“I have a cousin who works in the coroner’s office, over in Yakima,” Misty said with a dismissive wave of her hand.
“Does everyone know about the letter opener?” Lydia asked. She really wasn’t looking forward to trying to explain to her guests how someone was stabbed with something from the gift shop.
Then again, people were weird. Would such news really be bad publicity? Or would everyone suddenly want to buy one and would she have to restock?
“No, no. Just family,” Misty said.
Lydia shook her head. The Sergeant wasn’t going to be able to keep any secrets from the gossips in town. She just hoped that he realized that it wasn’t Lydia who was sharing the information.
“They’re trying to find Bernard, to tell him the news about his father, before they make an official announcement to the town,” Lydia said.
Misty nodded. “He lives in Yakima. Works in a bar. Turned up drunk for work on Friday, so they gave him the weekend off, with no pay. He makes most of his money on the weekends, so not working was actually a punishment.”
That would work for her in the long run, right?
Lydia pulled out her phone once she reached the third floor and double-checked the booking app. Yup. Marigold was free tonight. She’d have to rearrange some of the guests next weekend, but she was pretty sure she could accommodate everyone.
“You’re putting the detective in here?” Misty said, following Lydia into Marigold. “Good choice.”
Lydia nodded, looking around. The room seemed warm and comfy, done in shades of yellow, orange, and brown. The air still carried a faint lemon smell from the natural cleaner she used. The room was directly above Cornflower, in the northeast corner of the building. It would get morning sunlight, but it wouldn’t overheat like the rooms sometimes did on the west side.
The layout of the room was the same as in Cornflower: big bed in the center of the room piled high with matching pillows that Ed and Alan would have approved of, flat screen TV hanging from the wall above the armoire, welcome basket on the desk in the other corner. Lydia double-checked the bathroom, making sure that it had towels, soap, and shampoo all set, everything ready to welcome the next guest.
“The detective will be fine here,” Misty announced. She stood in the doorway and gave a nod of approval, like a doting mother watching her child share toys.
“Do you know who the detective is?” Lydia asked, curious.
“No,” Misty said, scowling. “Though my sister-in-law’s cousin works for the police department in Yakima, he works in drug enforcement, and the detective works in the major-crime unit. So who knows?”
“Well, we will in a short while,” Lydia said. It amused her how offended Misty appeared to be, to not know everything going on about the case.
The sound of the bell on the first floor tinkled merrily. “You better go see who that is,” Lydia said, “while I finish making the beds up here.”
Misty sighed. “Fine. But don’t think that you’ve gotten away without answering all my questions!”
Lydia grinned as Misty tromped down the stairs. There really wasn’t much more she would tell the other woman, not until Sergeant Gonzales gave her the go-ahead.
Then again, how much more could Lydia tell Misty about the case that she hadn’t already learned from her numerous cousins?
9
Lydia was coming back down the stairs around five PM, having settled the last guest. A tall young man stood just inside the doorway of the dining room, looking around. Lydia took a good look at him to make sure that she wasn’t mistaking her brother as a stranger again.
Nope. This man was only a little taller than she was, not her brother’s height. He had a serious face with pink-toned white skin. Blue eyes peered out from under a wide, intelligent brow. His nose was sharp, though his lips were thin and sensuous. He had brown hair that was just starting to have a few speckles of gray, though she would have put him around her age. He wore a light-colored suit with a black and blue striped tie.
“Can I help you?” Lydia asked coming quickly down the rest of the stairs.
“I’m here about a room,” the man said.
“I’m sorry, we don’t have any vacancies. You could try The Lodge. It’s on the western side of the lake,” Lydia said automatically. The Lodge charged three times her rate, and so often had rooms available. And despite what the owner claimed, his rooms were not three times better than everyone else’s.
“No, no. I think I have a reservation,” the man said. “Ellis Avery.”
Lydia frowned and walked into the gift store. The counter there doubled as their registration area, so they just had a single cash register. “No, I don’t see your name listed,” she said, checking the registration book. She reached for her phone to see if there was a reservation on the app that hadn’t made it into the book. It didn’t happen more than once a year, but mistakes happened.
“Sergeant Gonzales said he’d arranged everything,” Ellis said.
“Oh! You’re the detective!” Lydia said. “Sergeant Gonzales never told me your name.”
Ellis nodded. “So…I do have a room?” he asked, giving her a charming smile.
“You do!” Lydia said.
Why was her heart suddenly pounding again? She’d already been unofficially cleared of the murder. Surely she wasn’t nervous because the detective was a police officer? She hadn’t done anything wrong!
Or did it have something to do with Ellis Avery’s very nice smile?
“You’ll be in Marigold,” Lydia said, snagging a key from the locked box under the counter.
They took care of the paperwork and payment, with Lydia studiously looking at Ellis’s ID. The picture on his driver’s license really didn’t do him justice—he appeared angry and scowling in it.
“Thank you,” Lydia said, returning his cards to him. “You’ll be on the third floor. Follow me.”
“No elevator?” the detective asked as he started up the stairs behind Lydia.
“There really isn’t a place for one,” Lydia said. “So I just have to make sure that all my guests realize that the B&B isn’t handicap accessible.”
“I see,” Ellis said. It sounded as if he disapproved.
“If I’d been building a brand new B&B, I would have to make rooms that were accessible,” Lydia explained. “As I was taking over an already established business, I didn’t have to. But if I ever come into a windfall, I might add another extra room on the ground floor that would be accessible.”
Ellis merely grunted.
What, was he not used to walking up stairs? He didn’t appear to be out of shape.
Lydia firmly turned her thoughts away from considering exactly what kind of shape Ellis Avery might be in as she led him straight to the Marigold room.
The detective dropped his duffle bag onto the center of the bed and looked around. Didn’t he approve?
Lydia went through her usual spiel about the coffee maker, the towels and soap, the TV and the remote.
“We don’t come and clean every day,” she warned. “Just let me or Misty know if you need more towels or want the sheets changed or something.”
The detective nodded. He gave her a soft smile that transformed his face into something much, much nicer. “Thank you,” he said. “I know it’s tourist season and you’re booked up.”
“We can make it work,” Lydia said. His eyes really were the most amazing color of blue, almost gray here in the dimmer room.
A moment of quiet passed between the pair of them.
“Ah, is there anything else?” Lydia asked as she suddenly realized the danger she might be in with this handsome stranger. She started backing out of the room.
“When’s dinner?” he asked as he looked away, opening up his duffle bag.
“We don’t serve dinner here,” Lydia told him. “There are some very nice restaurants down the block. Like The Cove, or Rusty’s Pub.”
In the back of Lydia’s head a tiny voice yelled at her that she should offer to make him a sandwich. She firmly smacked that voice with a huge mallet, knowing that she was playing whack-a-mole at this point.
“Oh. Okay. Thanks,” Ellis said.
“But we do serve breakfast. It’s included in the B&B fee,” Lydia said.
“Then I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
“Yes,” Lydia said, finally getting out of the room and practically racing down the stairs.
She needed to get hold of herself. Now. She was thirty eight. He lived in Yakima. She was not interested in any sort of relationship, let alone a long-distance one.
However, she feared that it was already too late and that her heart wasn’t going to listen to any of her practical advice.
10
Wednesday morning, instead of just throwing on a shirt and shorts, Lydia found herself dithering over what she should wear. Should she put on the peach-colored polo shirt with the white shorts? The shirt woul
d show any stains or sweat quickly, but it made her gray eyes stand out nicely. Or should she maybe wear her plum-colored T-shirt? It wouldn’t show any stains, but it was a bit tight across her chest.
Damn it! She wasn’t a teenager anymore, trying to catch the eye of the high school quarterback. Besides, she had caught Neil’s eye, married him, and then been divorced by him. So enough of this!
Lydia finally put on a loose, navy-blue T-shirt with sage green shorts, then pulled her hair back hard, making sure the braid was neat. She found herself hesitating again—she had both plain bobby pins as well as clips that were fancier, with small flowers glued to the tops of them. She slipped the prettier ones into her hair, then took them out again immediately, replacing them with the plain ones. Ed and Alan would have been proud of her for not over-embellishing her look. They’d told her more often than she cared to remember about always looking in the mirror at the last minute and removing one item.
Besides, she was going to work, not to some party.
Lydia paused and looked at herself critically. She had laugh lines around the corners of her mouth and eyes—they’d grow more pronounced as she aged. Her skin didn’t have the age spots her parents did, they’d come at some point, but as she spent more time indoors than out, she might be spared them for quite a few more years. She’d always thought her petite nose was her best feature, and still felt that way. If she spent more time in the sun, she’d tan, but for now, she was fairly white. Her skin had a brown tone to it, not the pink of the detective.
After sighing heavily, Lydia took herself to the kitchen to start her day. There wasn’t anything she’d change about her looks, despite not being as fashionable as Patrice. She presented exactly as who she was: a hard-working single woman who found joy in her life. It was just too bad if anyone didn’t see that or desire it. Their loss.
Misty took orders in the restaurant that morning while Lydia cooked. It gave Misty the opportunity to check out Ellis Avery, as well spread her homey good-natured cheer around the room.
The Purloined Letter Opener Page 5