“Someone here killed that man,” Maria countered, tugging at her bright blue headband. She pulled it forward, pushed it back, and tugged again. Playing with it must have comforted her.
“It wasn’t one of us,” Dustin said. “I didn’t even want to come here tonight.”
“Neither did I,” Maria said.
Conyer simply said, “It’s January,” and left it at that, as if that were sufficient reason to dislike doing a remote from the Grandview. I supposed it was.
“You know what?” Dustin said, turning his attention to the pastry trays. “These pastries are amazing. You’re missing out, Miss Vitamin.”
“Knock off calling me that,” Maria said. “Just because I like to take care of my health—unlike you.”
“I thought you were enjoying the field trip, Maria,” Shane said.
“Really, Shane?” Maria said. She joined him on the bed, still clutching the flashlight. “Walking around in a dank basement, chasing air-duct noises? Waiting for a ghost to rise from the grave?”
Shane laughed softly. At least the man had the good graces to see the absurdity in his annual Herbert Purdy show.
“You don’t believe in the Purdy ghost, Maria?” Dustin said. “I could swear you did. I saw your face when you heard the bangs.”
“Those banging sounds had nothing to do with air ducts,” Shane said. “So let’s dispense with that right now.”
“You’re saying it was a ghost?” Maria said.
“I’m saying it wasn’t ducts,” Shane said. “Nothing more complicated than that.”
“I agree,” I said.
Julia shot me a look.
“I know what a contracting air duct sounds like,” I said. “I hear it when I turn the heat down before bed in the winter. The sound we heard was sharper. Like metal hitting concrete.”
Shane snapped his fingers. “That’s it! I’ve been trying to find a way to describe it.”
“I don’t care what the sound was,” Holly said with a sigh. “A kind man was just murdered.”
“Don’t misunderstand,” Shane said. “I meant no disrespect to Arthur. I can’t speak for everyone, but I’m trying not to think about it. He’s down the hall, we’re in the dark, and someone in the hotel killed him. I’d rather talk about the show and strange sounds, that’s all. I haven’t forgotten about him.”
“Sure,” Holly said. “Whatever you want. Whatever everyone wants.”
“The police will be here soon,” I said. Though what soon meant, I couldn’t say. I’d seen a glimpse of the snowstorm from the library window and I knew the roads had to be in rough shape.
“I wonder about that bed,” Dustin said, gesturing. “Do you think it’s the one Purdy died in?”
Maria scrambled to her feet. “You!”
“That’s not helping, Dustin,” Shane said. “Maria, take a look. This bed isn’t fifty years old. Sit yourself down and relax.”
Dustin suddenly turned his face to the door. “I hear a woman calling.”
I leaned on the doorjamb, gazed down the hall, and saw a flashlight beam drawing near. Julia flicked on her light and aimed it. “It’s Connie and Ian,” I said.
“About time,” Conyer grumbled. “What a lousy hotel this is.”
“Save it for the online review,” Maria said. “That’s what I plan to do. First thing when I get home.”
“There’s nothing wrong with the hotel,” Holly said. “And it belonged to Arthur, not the Swansons, so think twice before you post a snotty review. He didn’t charge you for his rooms, did he? No, I bet he didn’t.”
Ian reached the door first and began to hand out flashlights on his way to the desk. Once there, he set down a high-beam lantern and turned it on, illuminating the room.
“Sorry, sorry,” Connie said. “We’ve been trying to get the generator going.”
“No luck, I take it,” Shane said.
“It’s being extremely fussy,” she said. “We’ll try it again later.”
It occurred to me with a jolt that Connie might not be telling the truth. Had she and Ian even tried the generator? We didn’t even know if there was a generator. “Did you call the police?” I asked.
“We never got a chance,” Ian said. “The lines are down.”
“I thought that’s what you went off to do,” I said, my possibly irrational irritation with the couple growing. “That was the most important thing. More important than flashlights.”
“But the lines were down,” Ian said. “I mean, they went down before the lights went out. We checked.”
“Oh.”
“After the lights went out,” Connie said, “we thought we’d work on the generator.”
“Oh, I see. Sorry.” I was getting testy, like Maria, Julia, and even Holly. I needed James Gilroy. Right now. I’d never thought of myself as being afraid of the dark, but murder put dark in a whole new perspective. It was bad enough being trapped in an isolated hotel with a killer, but a killer you couldn’t see? I wanted to hit a switch and flood every room in the place with light.
“Connie, you were telling me earlier about the Purdy murder photos,” Shane said.
“Oh, for crying out loud,” Maria said. “I can’t believe you’re asking that now.”
“I want her to talk,” Shane said. “She told me things I’d never heard before, and I thought I was on top of things.”
“Yes, the crime-scene photos we found in the basement last week,” Connie said, nodding eagerly. “A remarkable discovery after fifty years.”
My ears perked up.
“You were going to show them to me,” Shane said.
Connie’s face fell. “I’m afraid they’re in the library. Ian put them in a photo album so guests could look. I guess I can get them for you.”
“No, I will,” Ian said, moving for the door.
“We can’t take anything from the library,” I said. “Wait for the police.”
“Rachel’s right,” Holly said. “It’s a crime scene. No one goes in there.”
“I hear something,” Dustin said, holding a cupped hand to his ear.
The man’s hearing was unbelievable. I stuck my head out the door, turned on the flashlight Ian had given me, and directed it down the hall. “I see lights coming from the lobby, nearing the hall.”
“Where is everyone?” a man groused. “You’d think someone would have met us at the door.”
Officer Underhill. Impatient, testy Officer Underhill. I grinned. “It’s the police,” I said. I hurried for the lobby, reminding myself as I went that Gilroy would object to me hugging and kissing him in front of his officer.
CHAPTER 5
“Are you all right?” Gilroy whispered as Underhill herded us down the hall and into the lobby.
“I’m okay. Everyone is, except for Arthur Jago.”
Gilroy nodded, touched the small of my back, and then walked ahead of me. Or hobbled, rather. He was still wearing the fracture boot from December, when he’d broken his ankle after been forced down a canyon road in his cruiser by a lunatic murderer. Thankfully, he’d broken only one bone and could now get about—and rather nicely—without crutches.
Ian had brought the high-beam lantern with him, and when he set it on the coffee table between a pair of old couches, it did a fair job of lighting the lobby. When Dustin and Conyer put their upturned flashlights on the fireplace mantel, only the far corners of the room, off toward the receptionist’s desk, were black.
“I’ll start a fire,” Ian said. “It may be our only heat for a while.”
“At least the cold is good for the crime scene,” Dustin said. “It keeps the body chilled.”
“Arthur isn’t a body,” Holly snapped. “He was a human being, and someone in this lobby murdered him.”
“She’s right,” Maria said. “There’s no way around that. We can talk about Purdy and ghosts all you want, but someone here is a killer.”
I found a seat on one of the lobby’s soft but threadbare couches.
�
��What did you do to your foot, Chief Gilroy?” Shane asked. “Skiing accident?”
“Something like that,” Gilroy said.
“So how were the roads?” Shane said. “Are the crime-scene folks going to make it?”
“The county is pulling a plow from the highway to help out,” Gilroy said. “But that might not happen until early morning.”
“We only made it because we have chains,” Underhill said. “It’s a nasty storm system.”
“You mean we have to stay here?” Conyer asked.
“Where did you think we were going?” Maria said. “Even with the outdoor lights gone you can see the snowstorm.”
Conyer dropped dejectedly into one of the couches. “I’d take my chances in a heartbeat. Better the snow than this.”
“We’re all staying here tonight,” Gilroy said. “Underhill, you can start taking statements.”
“Oh, man, it’s going to be a long night,” Conyer said. He took off his glasses and rubbed them on the T-shirt under his sweater.
“The coffee is still warm in the insulated carafes on that table by the windows,” Ian said. “Anyone interested?”
“That’s a good idea,” Gilroy said. “Why don’t you pass out the coffee? I’ll be back.”
Gilroy headed for the library, switching on his department-issue flashlight before he exited the lobby. I wondered what he would make of the crime scene. I closed my eyes, recalling the details I’d committed to memory. More than the book on Arthur’s lap was peculiar. Why had the killer stabbed Arthur in the back? And how? Please lean forward so I can stick a knife in your back. Thank you. Now lean back again. No, if Arthur had been sitting when he was attacked, a knife in the back made no sense. But if he had been standing . . .
“Coffee, Rachel?” Julia said, nudging my arm. I hadn’t even noticed her join me on the couch.
“Yes, please.”
Ian handed me a mug, which I gratefully wrapped my cold hands around.
“Holly, can we bring out the rest of your pastries?” Connie asked. “We never did get the chance.”
“Pastries?” Underhill said, his pen poised above his notepad.
“Sure, whatever,” Holly replied, taking a flashlight with her to the kitchen. “I’ll bring them out. Why not eat to our hearts’ content?”
“In the meantime, I need everyone’s names and addresses,” Underhill said. “And I need to know where everyone was before Mr. Jago’s body was discovered.”
I took a sip of coffee, put down my mug, and went after Holly. We met up in the kitchen as she was piling all the remaining pastries onto one tray. A delicious but precarious pyramid.
“All right, Holly,” I said. “What is it?”
“What?” She set a croissant atop the pile. I didn’t know how she was going to get the tray into the lobby without dumping half the pastries on the floor.
“It’s more than Arthur’s death that’s making you angry. You hardly knew him personally.”
“All that talk about the body,” she said. “Like Arthur is a thing. They’re thoughtless.”
“They don’t mean to be. Everyone’s scared and speaking without thinking.”
Holly’s hands dropped to her sides. “What kind of person am I, Rachel?”
I stared.
“I’m asking you a serious question.”
“What brought this on?”
“Do you know what my first thought was when I saw Arthur in the library?”
I shook my head.
“I thought, how horrible. That poor man. I wondered if he’d suffered any or if it had happened quickly, before he knew it. Do you know what my second thought was?”
“Tell me.”
“The man who wanted to help me expand Holly’s Sweets was gone.”
“Holly . . .”
“He asked me and Peter to lunch last month, and I said we couldn’t, we were too busy.”
“December is your busiest month.”
“I realize now that I didn’t know him. I know he was divorced, but what about kids? Did he have any? I don’t know.” She wiped her hands on a kitchen towel and then tossed the towel on the counter next to the refrigerator. “The bakery. It’s always the bakery with me.”
“Holly, stop it. It’s your livelihood. More than that, it’s your passion. You’re meant to be a pastry chef, and it’s a hard, time-consuming job. Of course you thought of your missed opportunity. It’s the reason you came to the Grandview, and it’s why Arthur invited you. How could you not think of it?”
“Maybe.”
“Did you plan his murder?”
“Don’t be silly.”
“Would you give up Arthur’s help if you could have him back?”
“Yes.”
“Then?”
“I feel horrible.”
“Which proves you’re a good person.”
“Am I?”
“You asked me what kind of person you are, and I’m telling you,” I said. “And Julia would say the same thing. No, Julia would say something like Don’t you ever ask me such a foolish question again.”
She smiled. “Okay.”
“I mean it.”
“Thanks, Rachel.”
I grabbed a handful of paper napkins from the counter. “Now let’s go before Underhill has a snack attack.”
“Did you see his eyes light up when he heard the word ‘pastries’?” Holly said. She seized the tray and strode for the lobby, somehow without losing a single pastry from the sugary Matterhorn she’d created.
“Mrs. Kavanagh, those are fantastic looking,” Underhill said, following the tray to the coffee table.
“Dig in, Officer,” Holly answered. “There are plenty. Don’t be shy.”
“Is Chief Gilroy still in the library?” I asked Underhill.
“You need to talk to him?”
“For one minute.”
“Go ahead,” he said with a nod.
“A private talk with the chief of police?” Dustin said. “I guess you’re not a suspect.”
Ignoring Dustin, I plucked a donut from the stack of pastries, grabbed a napkin, and set out for the library. I’d forgotten a flashlight, but light from the open library door guided me. When I got there, Gilroy was crouched in front of Arthur Jago, who was now sitting straight in his chair, no longer slumped forward. Gilroy’s flashlight was on the floor next to him, pointed at the ceiling.
“I’m guessing you had a good look in here,” he said, his eyes trained on Arthur’s chest. “Was he bent forward or sitting like this when you found him?”
“Sitting. Just like that. With the book across his lap. When Shane touched him, he fell forward. No one touched him after that.”
Gilroy stood, grunting slightly with the effort, and continued to stare at Arthur’s body.
“Do you think it’s strange he was stabbed in the back?” I asked.
“Yup.”
“And with a book about slow cooker recipes on his lap.”
“Yeah.”
“He fell into the chair or he was put there after he was stabbed.”
“Probably.”
Short answers. Gilroy’s detective brain was in high gear. I needed to leave him to his business. I desperately wanted a look at the Purdy photo album Ian had put together, but I figured it was best to wait until the coroner took Arthur’s body away. From where I was standing, I couldn’t see where the album was, and I sure wasn’t going to scour the shelves while the crime scene was still active. “I’ll leave your donut on a napkin outside the door,” I said.
“Thanks, Rachel. Would you ask Underhill to bring his camera and get the ultraviolet flashlight?”
“Um . . . sure.”
Gilroy’s eyes were still fixed on Arthur’s chest when I left. Whatever he was seeing, or hoping to see, was a mystery to me.
Back in the lobby, I told Underhill about the camera and flashlight. Judging by the officer’s grimace, the request involved a trip to the squad car in the snowstorm. “I’ll save you
a bear claw,” I said.
Underhill grunted and zipped up his coat.
While I saved a bear claw for Underhill, I snatched the lone cream puff on the tray for myself. Holly said she’d stashed more in her suitcase, but it was going to be a while before we could retire to our rooms—our dark rooms—and I needed my pastry. “Has anyone heard more strange noises?” I said before taking a bite.
“Come to think of it, no,” Shane said, thoughtfully rubbing his chin.
“Where’s the ghost of Herbert Purdy?” Conyer said. He was working on another cinnamon-honey roll, I noticed. Pastry-wise, he was putting me to shame.
“We have a murderer in our midst,” Julia said. “We don’t need a ghost on top of that.”
“Maybe the ghost is the murderer,” Conyer said. “He stabs people in the back just like he was stabbed in the back. It’s his weird revenge. Guests beware.”
Connie groaned in disgust. “This is the Grandview, not Murder Hotel.”
“Isn’t your whole marketing plan based on selling the Grandview as Murder Hotel?” Dustin said. “And that was the hotel’s knife in Arthur’s back. You said it was.”
“Anyone could have taken that,” Connie said. She sighed sadly and looked about the lobby. “This could be such a bright and beautiful place.”
“Don’t wish for something you can’t have,” Dustin said. “What you’ve got here is Murder Hotel. Make do with what you’ve got. That’s what Arthur was doing, it seems to me. Making the best of the hotel’s reputation, and making a lot of money in the process.”
Connie looked ready to hand Dustin a tongue-lashing, but whatever she was about to say was interrupted by Underhill’s noisy return.
“It’s really coming down,” he said, shaking the snow from his coat and stomping his feet on the entrance mat. “I kind of hoped the coroner would make it, but not tonight he won’t.”
“That figures,” Conyer said.
Mumbling, “It’s going to be a long night,” Underhill headed for the library, camera and flashlight in hand.
Julia leaned sideways and whispered. “What is the ultraviolet flashlight for?”
“That’s what I want to know.” I was dying to find out. I snagged Underhill a bear claw, plopped it on a napkin, and set off for the library. This was borderline behavior—intruding on Gilroy’s territory. He no longer called my sideline investigations “meddling,” and he had even asked my opinion on cases, but this was a crime scene and I was clearly snooping—with pastry in hand.
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