by Jane Hinchey
"It's his home. And he's used to spending time alone." He shrugged. "It's no big deal. But yeah, I'm sure he'll be looking for his breakfast right about now. And I had an idea."
"About?"
He cleared his throat. "I know you're going to need time to transition into eventually moving into my place. So I was trying to think of a way that would make it easier for you...like get you used to it in advance."
"Oh?"
"Just go to work every day. Use my house as your office, which it essentially is. So you're there every day, but when the work is done, you come back here. That way you'll be around for Thor and he can decide if he wants to come back here to sleep at night or stay at my place."
I thought about it for a minute. "You know that's not a stupid idea," I said, hurrying down the stairs. My blue Chrysler, circa 1970, sat at the curb. "I may have issues living in your house," I said, "but I have no such qualms about your car." Unlocking the driver’s side door I climbed in, not even surprised when Ben was seated and waiting in the passenger seat. I was getting used to this. I never thought I would, yet here we were.
"Keys are in the bowl on the hallway table," Ben offered.
"What about your phone?" Pulling out from the curb, I took off with a roar, a backfire, and a cloud of smoke. I patted the dash in silent thanks. She'd done me well, but it was time for retirement.
"Dunno. I think the police took it."
Okay. I'd ask Galloway about it next time I saw him. But then I could always just buy a new phone—I had money now. Not even Ben's money, I had my savings. Just over fifteen grand that was my deposit for my own place...eventually. Like maybe when I was around fifty. But all that had changed and here I was, flush with cash. I had no idea how long the process with Ben's estate would take, but until then, I was okay.
"Where are you going?" Ben asked. "You missed the turnoff."
"Firefly Bay Hotel," I replied.
"Errr. Why?"
"Coffee." For while my brain was functioning at a marginal level sans caffeine, I knew it could do so much better when I was fully caffeinated. And grabbing a coffee at the hotel was killing two birds with one stone.
"Okay...." Ben puzzled over my reasoning because I hadn't yet explained to him my plan. It had been bugging me since yesterday when we'd met with Philip Drake. Aside from his odd behavior, he'd called someone immediately after our meeting. And I wanted to know who.
At the hotel, I managed to snag a table near a power point and plugged my phone in.
"So what's the plan?" Ben asked from across the table. It was weird because the chair was pushed in, so for him to sit on it he was effectively in the middle of the table.
"I need to get into Drake's office," I said, keeping my voice low. "And that's where you come in. I want you to go see if the coast is clear. Let me know when he leaves his office. If you could get a look at his appointments for the day that'd be even better."
Spying a waitress approaching, I stopped speaking and turned my attention to the menu.
"Good morning, ma'am." She smiled.
"Morning." I smiled back. "I'll have a long black please, and the eggs Benedict." I preempted her next question.
"Very well. Will that be all?" Before I could answer there was a loud rumble and a van pulled up outside the main doors. The waitress and I both turned to look.
"Oh no," she muttered, "that idiot. He's supposed to go around the back to the trade's entrance." I glanced at the van, saw the florist logo on the side, figured he was delivering a new bouquet for the reception desk until I saw the driver fling open the back doors and heave a giant urn out, with a floral display that had to be over five feet tall.
Brett Baxter appeared, rushing across the foyer, clipboard in hand. "No, no, no." He wagged a finger at the driver. "You can't bring those through the foyer. We have guests."
"I got told to deliver 'em here and that's what I'm doing. You think you're the only place in town having a wedding today? I've got places I need to be. This is your delivery. I'll happily leave it here on the curb if you're going to give me grief." Wow. I admired the guy’s bravado. Seemed Brett did too. I got the feeling that not very many people argued with him, so when they did, it got his attention. He eyeballed the driver who was an overweight man in his fifties, balding head, sweating profusely. The man rested the urn on the back of the van and eyeballed Brett. "Well? What's it going to be?"
"Very well. Just this once, mind you. In the future, kindly remember that all deliveries are to go to the rear of the hotel."
"I'm sure your guests won't mind looking at pretty flowers being delivered," he shot back.
"Breakfast won't be long," the waitress said, startling me.
I'd been so busy watching the driver and Brett that I'd forgotten she was there. I gave her a nod but kept my attention on the duo outside. Brett hijacked a luggage trolley but left all the heavy lifting to the driver, then led the way across the foyer while the driver pushed the flower-laden trolley. The driver was right. The flowers were really pretty. Brett appeared to be in his element, talking into a headset as he walked, referring to his clipboard, which on closer inspection was actually an iPad, before he and the driver disappeared from view.
"Nice day for a wedding," Ben commented, gazing out the window at the clear blue sky.
I shrugged. "Sure." Weddings stressed me out. I'd been a bridesmaid at my brother’s and my sister’s weddings and the pressure not to trip or knock anything over was amplified a million fold.
"I always thought I'd have a garden wedding," Ben continued, voice dreamy.
"Really?" I was shocked. "You thought about getting married?"
He shrugged. "One day, sure. When I found the right girl."
"I thought Tiffany may have been a contender." She'd been his latest. They'd been together six months before the whole thing had gone south. Six months was long-term for Ben. And he had the nerve to judge me on the brevity of my relationships.
"Nah. She didn't want kids."
I blinked. "I didn't know that."
His mouth turned down at the corners. "Doesn't matter now anyway."
We lapsed into silence when my coffee arrived. Moving my hand aside I accidentally brushed the cutlery in front of me onto the floor.
“I’m so sorry!” Appalled, I leaned over in my chair to scoop up the errant cutlery at the same time the waitress did, and we clashed heads. I jerked upright, slamming my head into the side of the table. “Owwww.” Cradling my poor beat up head, I managed to right my cup of coffee before it tipped over and apologized, again, to the waitress. Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “I’ll get you fresh cutlery.” She spun on her heel and stalked away.
Careful not to burn myself, I took a grateful sip, while thinking about what Ben had said. "So...you wanted kids then?" It wasn't a topic Ben and I had talked about before.
"Of course. Don't you?"
"Well, yeah." Of course I did. Every time I was near my nieces and nephew my ovaries were fit to explode. My biological clock was well and truly ticking. "You'd have made a great father." It totally sucked that now we'd never know, he'd never get the opportunity.
"Don't go feeling sorry for me, Fitz," Ben warned, wagging his finger in my face. I automatically made a snatch for it, forgetting he was a ghost until I felt the icy chill as my hand passed through his. I glanced around, hoping no one had seen me madly waving my hand around at nothing, and also feeling sad that I couldn't touch him anymore. It’s the little things that get to you.
"Okay, I can see you're getting maudlin. I'm going to case the joint. Enjoy your breakfast." He disappeared as the waitress approached carrying a plate of food and replacement cutlery.
"Wow, that was quick."
"Saturday mornings are always busy for us." She slid the plate in front of me. "Can I get you anything else?"
"Nope, I'm all good, thanks." My stomach had begun rumbling as soon as it caught a whiff of the eggs Benedict. I waited until she'd turned away before picking up my knife
and fork and tucking in. Oh so good. Hangover me liked the idea of going out for breakfast after a big night. I decided I'd make it a regular thing. But then once sober brain caught up I began thinking of Ben's case and why I was here. I was convinced the Armstrong case, the Drake case, and the Baxter case were all connected. The common denominator was the Firefly Bay Hotel. But that's where my thought process stopped. All I had to go on was gut instinct that Philip Drake was up to something—I just needed to get a look at his phone and figure out who he'd called when I left his office yesterday. Easy, right?
17
Ben returned and said the coast was clear. I finished breakfast, bolted down my coffee, paid and then made my way to Philip Drake's office, walking with confidence as if I had every right to be wandering the back corridors of the hotel. Of course what I was doing was a huge gamble. I was simply hoping that Drake wouldn't be in his office but his cell phone would be, which, when I thought about it, was madness. What type of hotel manager would he be if he didn't take his cell phone with him? But I remembered, when I met with him yesterday that he'd ushered me into his office and his phone had been on the desk. Most people would automatically pick it up and take it with them wherever they went.
As luck would have it, when I cracked open Drake's door and stuck my head in, I spied his cell phone sitting in exactly the same spot as yesterday. Slipping inside, I quietly closed the door behind me and darted behind his desk. My heart was thumping double time in my chest, adrenaline spiking.
"Keep a lookout," I told Ben, picking up the phone and swiping my hand across the screen. Damn it. Locked. "Use your torch app," Ben said. "Angle it toward his screen. You should be able to make out fingerprints on what buttons he pushes the most."
I gasped. "Is that how you crack a pin code?"
"Sometimes. It would be easier if we had an encryption app on your phone and synced it with his and blah, blah, blah," is what I heard. Ben was using a language I did not speak. Geek. Tuning him out, I did as he suggested and sure enough I could just make out what number he pressed the most. Not numbers, as in plural. Number, as in singular. The number three. Surely his pin wasn't three, three, three, three? It was! I almost squealed when I punched it in and the phone opened. Ben stopped yapping on about whatever it was and peered over my shoulder. "You did it! Well done!"
I couldn't believe it had been that easy. Pulling up his phone log, I began scrolling. "What time were we in here yesterday?" I asked Ben.
"We were at the lawyers at two. That took about an hour, so maybe between three and three thirty?"
"Okay. At three twenty-two he called Sophie." There were no other calls around that time, in or out.
"Sophie's his daughter."
We looked at each other, puzzled. Drake had hired Ben to investigate Sophie's boyfriend. We assumed she didn't know about it, but what if she did? Because why else would Philip call her after my visit?
Two things happened next. One, I realized Ben was not keeping a lookout and two, Drake's phone started to ring. It startled me so bad I tossed it in the air, made a mad scramble to catch it, had just closed my fingers around it when I heard voices outside the door.
"Shit!" I whispered. Ben moved fast, crossing the room and poking his head through the door while I stabbed at the screen to get out of the call log. Pressing the button on the side of the phone, I rejected the call and sent it into sleep mode, then carefully aligned it back on the desk where I'd found it.
"Hide," Ben yelled. "He's coming."
"Where?" I whispered, frantically searching for a hiding spot. I eyeballed the desk. I could hide under it, but if he were to sit down he'd find me straightaway. Behind the curtains was a no go, they were sheer. I wouldn't fit in the filing cabinet, and believe me, I considered that option for a nanosecond, and unless the bookcase hid a secret door behind it, I was screwed.
Hurrying around his desk I eyeballed the sofa pushed back against the far wall. Fake it and pretend I was here searching for something I'd left behind yesterday? But I hadn't been anywhere near the sofa. I'd sat in one of the chairs opposite Drake's desk. The door handle began to turn and I darted toward the door, pressing myself up against the wall behind it, closed my eyes, and prayed.
"Ah, there it is." Philip Drake pushed the door open, it stopped an inch from my nose. I sucked in a breath and held it, praying he didn't shut the door and reveal my hiding spot. I heard his footsteps as he crossed the room and almost sagged with relief. So far, so good.
"As I was saying…" A male voice I didn't recognize spoke right next to me, making me jump. "I think we can swing both the Roberts wedding on the seventeenth and the petit four cooking class."
"Baxter's the event manager. What does he say?" Philip Drake replied.
"He only cares about the Roberts wedding." The man sniffed. "He has no interest in what I do."
"The two of you have to work together," Drake grumbled, his footsteps returning. "It's imperative front of house and event management work together, not continually bring your squabbles to me."
Then the door closed and I listened as their voices faded away. Slumping against the wall, I exhaled the breath I'd been holding in a whoosh. A glance towards Drake's desk told me he'd returned to collect his phone.
"You are one lucky son of a b—" Ben drawled.
"You are one lousy lookout," I shot back. Gathering myself, I waited a few minutes for the coast to be clear, then quickly exited Drake's office. That had been a close call. Too close. My heart rate didn't return to normal until I was back in my car.
"Next time we do that," I huffed, "do a girl a solid and actually keep a lookout, will you?"
Ben had the grace to look contrite. "Sorry. My bad. Too caught up in doing the investigative work, I guess."
"Okay then." I nodded. Fair enough. Ben wasn't used to being the lookout. He was used to doing the work. A lesson learned for both of us. I was just glad I hadn't been busted. "So what do you think?" I asked as I pulled away.
"About what?"
"The whole Sophie thing." I drummed my thumb on the steering wheel. "Did she know her dad had her boyfriend investigated? Was it just a coincidence that he called her after our visit yesterday?"
"On this occasion, despite me not believing in coincidences, it is possible."
"I think I should talk to Sophie," I decided.
"Risky."
"Risky is my middle name."
"No, it's not. Your middle name is—"
"If you say it I'll never speak to you again!" I shot him a glare. His answering smile was broad. "What do you know about Sophie?" I asked, distracting him.
"If I could remember I'd tell you."
Damn it, I'd forgotten. Post-death amnesia. How inconvenient. Gripping the steering wheel, I headed to Ben's house, or as he suggested I think of it—the office. I left my car on the street and smiled broadly when Mrs. Hill's curtains twitched. I waved and they quickly dropped back into place and I could see her in my mind’s eye, hurriedly stepping back from the window as if I hadn't seen her spying on me in the first place.
"Where have you been? I'm starving!" Thor greeted me at the door and a pang of guilt had me scooping him up into my arms for a cuddle. "I'm sorry. I—" I was going to say forgot but bit off the words before they left my mouth. I didn't want him to know I'd forgotten him. Also, what was I thinking cuddling this cat? I was about to put him down when he head bumped my chin. I froze. Was he about to attack my face?
"Awww, look at you two," Ben purred. "That's nice."
"Nice?" I squeaked, still frozen with an overweight cream puff with delusions of badness cradled in my arms. But the purring emanating from Thor told me he didn't dislike me quite as much as he let on. Either that or he was just incredibly thankful I'd arrived to save him from imminent starvation.
"Come on, let's get you fed. And I really should get you some new bowls, huh?" I carried the ball of fur through the house, setting him down in the kitchen while I went to collect the kibble from the pantry.
"Can you show me how to use this?" I jerked my head at the machine with all it's gleaming dials and buttons and longed wistfully for my ever so simple Keurig.
"Sure."
Ben's machine was the type where you add beans, press a button and the machine grinds the beans and makes your coffee. There was a steamer and frother and over a dozen variations of coffee I could make. I stuck with my very simple, very easy, long black. It was either master this machine or buy instant and I refused to buy instant. I wasn't a heathen.
Coffee made, I carried it into Ben's office and seated myself at the desk.
"Right, Sophie Drake. Who are you?" Shaking the mouse to wake up the computer, I opened the browser and then paused. "Do I need to erase your browsing history?" I said cautiously, a terrible thought occurring to me.
Ben snorted. "No. Why?"
"Oh, no reason." I gave a little hair toss and typed in Facebook. Best place to stalk a young woman? Social media. "Just want to make sure I'm not going to stumble across anything you wouldn't want me to see."
"Errr. Nope. I'm good." Then two seconds later. "Ooooh! You mean porn!"
Shaking my head, I blew out a breath. "Yes. Porn. Hence my question. Do I need to clear your browsing history because I don't want anything accidentally popping up."
"Popping up!" Ben hooted with laughter.
"You are so juvenile." Ignoring him, I began my search for Sophie. There were half a dozen Sophie Drakes with profiles on Facebook, but only one lived in Firefly Bay. I clicked it.
Ben got himself under control and muttered, "There's no porn. You're safe."