For Whom the Book Tolls

by Laura Gail Black

  Beautiful landscaping wrapped the hotel in flowering shrubs, lush lawns, and stately trees, providing long stretches of shade in contrast to the late-morning sunshine. After the driver helped me exit the carriage, I crossed to the wide and inviting front steps. Once the uniformed attendant opened the doors to the interior of the hotel, I truly felt like I had stepped back in time.

  My jaw dropped at the opulence in the lobby. What a breathtaking masterpiece John Hokes had planned. Early morning light streamed through glass sections of the vaulted ceilings, and live trees grew from holes in the marble floor.

  While I waited for Rita to join me, I strolled around the room, looking at expensive paintings adorning silk-paneled walls. I wasn’t an art expert by any stretch of the imagination, but many were replicas of originals by well-known artists, although Monet was the only one I could identify without standing on the ornate furniture to get a closer look at the signatures.

  Huge pieces of furniture placed carefully around the large room, unmistakably expensive antiques, looked like they belonged in a museum. Exotically patterned Oriental carpets graced the hardwood floors. Above my head hung a chandelier that must have weighed several hundred pounds, and highly polished brass wall sconces held electric lights to supplement the magnificent light from above. Although my khaki slacks were crisply pressed and my heather-blue polo complemented my blue eyes, I felt dowdy compared to the sheer elegance of the room.

  I jumped as Rita tapped me on the shoulder from behind. “Gee whiz! Don’t scare me like that. You almost gave me a heart attack.”

  Rita’s period costume was as elegant as the surroundings. The silvery blue of the day dress set off her upswept red hair. The high neckline, puffed upper sleeves, and tiny waistline gave way to a skirt that belled out below the knees like a morning glory, with a small train behind. “Sorry. I’m dying to know what you’ve managed to scrape up on that nasty Mr. Childers. He’s not exactly our most appreciated patron. Quite a few of us would love to see his stupid story debunked. And I’m one of them.”

  “I can only imagine.” I grinned.

  We had discussed Norman over dinner the evening before, and I’d called to let her know I was coming today, armed with new information.

  “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me last night about this secret dirt you’ve got on Norman.” Rita tried unsuccessfully to pout, as a tickled grin kept her from pulling her mouth down into a frown.

  “I only found out this morning when my dad called back. They needed to verify a few facts before I could talk about it. And I’m not telling you what it is until I can tell that weasel. I want to see the look on his face when I prove he’s lying through his teeth.” I’d savored the prospect of that very moment all morning. Okay, so it wasn’t my Perry Mason moment, but it would still satisfy my growing need to finally stick it to someone who was screwing me over, this time Norman Childers.

  “Then let’s get at it.” Rita practically dragged me across the elegant lobby in the direction of the bank of elevators at the far end.

  “Elevators?” I looked around, surprised something so out of place would be here. “I thought this was supposed to be period-accurate to the turn of the twentieth century.”

  Rita shifted to tour-guide mode. “Elevators were first used in the early 1800s. By the early 1900s, they weren’t that uncommon and had become electric rather than steam or hydraulic driven.”

  “Hey, you’re good at this.” I followed behind her, finally arriving at the elevators at the far end of the vast lobby.

  She’d told the bellhop to hold one of the three elevators, explaining we had bad news for the patron in suite 412.

  “I hope it’s bad enough to send him packing,” said the bellboy, who obviously didn’t like Norman any more than anyone else who’d met him. “He’s a lousy tipper, and he treats us bellboys like we’re gunk to be scraped off the bottom of his shoe or something.” The doors opened on the fourth floor, and as we stepped out, the bellboy added, “Good luck. I hope you get the sucker.”

  I almost bounced as I walked, internally doing the Snoopy happy dance as I followed Rita’s silent footsteps, her elegant dress whispering as she walked. Finally at Norman’s door, I took a deep breath and reveled in the moment one last time before banging loudly, a goofy grin plastered on my face.

  “Norman, you jerk, I know you’re in there!” I yelled through the door when it didn’t open after the first few knocks. I pounded harder. “Come out and face me like a man, you weasel. I know the truth.”

  I almost jumped out of my shoes when the door was yanked open not by Norman but by Detective Frank Sutter. “I’m so sorry, we must have the wrong room,” I stammered. “I was looking for suite four-twelve and Norman Childers.” I grabbed Rita’s arm and turned to go.

  “You found the right room, Miss Quinn. But Norman can’t come to the door right now.”

  I stopped in my tracks and turned, frustrated to be blocked by this irritating detective. This hadn’t been part of my dream scenario. “Oh? And why not?”

  “Because he’s dead.”

  Chapter Twenty

  My breath left in a whoosh, and my knees would have buckled, taking me to a pile on the floor, if Rita hadn’t held me up.

  “Why don’t you two lovely ladies come in?” Sutter gestured into the room, and too stunned to object, we obediently went where he pointed.

  In the corner, near a lavish couch, lay a body-sized lump under a white sheet. Sutter’s partner stood nearby, leaning in to speak to someone in a coroner’s jacket.

  Detective Logan saw us and came across the room. “Miss Quinn, what are you doing here?” His concern was noticeable, and his gaze locked on to me, his chocolate-brown eyes warm and compassionate.

  It was all I could do to resist the temptation to brush a stray lock of wavy, dark hair off his forehead.

  Sutter’s eyes, however, gave me a nasty look. “Yes, exactly what did you have to discuss with our dearly departed guest over there?”

  “I wanted to talk to him about some personal business.” I wasn’t sure how much to divulge. After all, now that Norman was dead, it didn’t matter if he claimed to be Uncle Paul’s son. Or did it?

  “Personal business.” Grunt. “I find it highly coincidental that you’re connected to yet another dead body.” His snarky tone inferred he found it anything but coincidental. “Look, Miss Quinn, let’s be frank with one another. Why don’t you tell me the truth?” He raised his eyebrows slightly and tilted his head, a look of sympathy on his face belied by the cold glint in his eyes.

  I stifled a hysterical giggle and choked back the reflexive comment that he would be better at being Frank than I would.

  Seeming to misunderstand my expression as a sudden onset of nerves, the detective led us to sit on a second couch across the room from the body. He angled me so I couldn’t see Norman’s remains. “I can help if you’re honest with me from the start.”

  It hit me what Detective Sutter was getting at. He thought I’d killed Norman and had returned to the scene of the crime. My mouth dropped open, but no sound came out. Finally, I managed to push words out past the band tightening around my chest. “How dare you think that about me?”

  “Excuse me?” Sutter narrowed his gaze.

  “You think I did this too, don’t you?” Indignation burned in my gut. I. Would. Not. Go. Through. This. Again.

  “Jenna, he does not.” Rita’s voice had a soothing effect, as if she wanted to keep me from landing us in more hot water.

  I was too incensed to care. “He does too. Look at him. His mind is all made up. And he doesn’t even know why I’m here.” Fury washed through me, and not simply at missing the opportunity to chew out Norman.

  “We’ve had a rash of unusual crime for this area—murder, breaking and entering, now a second murder—and guess who the common denominator is.” Sutter changed from the sympathetic ear to the hard-nosed cop. “I do think you might have killed Mr. Childers. I think the two of you may have alrea
dy had an argument, possibly over whatever you were yelling about at the door a few minutes ago, possibly a falling-out among thieves. Maybe you two killed Baxter together. I think you attempted to kill Childers, then you left. I think you were coming back here to make sure you hadn’t left anything of yours behind. But you messed up, because you did leave something behind.”

  “And what is that, Detective Sutter?” Thoroughly outraged by this time, I clutched at Rita’s hand for support.

  “A glove.” Sutter motioned to Logan, who crossed the room to pick up a baggie.

  As he approached, I saw a black glove in the bag. When he held it out toward me to show me, I saw it was made of fine silk and seemed to have been well cared for over many years.

  “Hold out your hand,” insisted Sutter, laying the bag flat in his palm.

  Rita gripped my hand tighter. “You don’t have to do this,” she said softly in my ear. She looked at Sutter. “You do know, even if it does fit her, it doesn’t prove a thing. Any female guest here could have worn that glove, and I’m sure we have more than one pair on hand exactly like it.”

  Sutter grinned a challenging grin. “Of course she doesn’t have to, but then, if she doesn’t, do we need to worry she’s hiding something?”

  The challenge had been thrown down, and I was tired of backing down like a timid mouse. “Fine. I will.” I plopped my hand down into his on top of the glove, determined to prove his theory incorrect and praying it didn’t actually fit. Internal fist pump! I snatched my hand back, tickled at his confused look when he saw the glove was way too small. At almost six feet tall, I didn’t have dainty hands. “You were saying, Detective?” I really tried not to be smug. After all, making him mad wouldn’t serve any good purpose. But I couldn’t help but enjoy his disappointed look.

  “Maybe the glove belongs to someone else. Childers probably had other lady friends.” Sutter rallied, and his look said he was still determined to pin the crime on me.

  “Look, Detective.” I backpedaled, trying to regain some sense of dignity and composure. “I’m sure you think you have this all sewn up. But if I had killed Norman, why would I be demanding to speak with him in a loud voice from the hall?”

  “Maybe you wanted to throw us off track.” Grunt. Sutter’s eyes gleamed as he worked out his newer theory. “Maybe you thought others would see you pounding and would back up your story that you didn’t know he was dead yet. Maybe it was all a part of your plan.”

  “Sutter, knock it off.” Logan stepped into Sutter’s line of sight. “Badgering her won’t gain anything.”

  Sutter’s face reddened, and his nostrils flared. “You’d do well to remember I’m the senior partner. You don’t control how I run an investigation. As long as I’m here, there’s no way I’m letting a murderer get away with it.” His gaze latched on to me.

  I couldn’t believe how stupid some people could be. Or maybe I could. I’d seen it up close and personal not too far in the past. Police detectives were supposed to be objective and look at things from all angles until the case was solved, but my previous experience with narrow-minded cops had proven otherwise. “How could I have planned something like this? I’ve never even been in this hotel before.”

  “Oh, then how did you get the room number? The front desk doesn’t hand those out to whoever walks up and asks for them.” Sutter sat back, a self-satisfied smile settling in under the I’ve-got-you-now look in his eyes.

  “I got that information for her, Frank,” Rita said from her seat beside me.

  Sutter’s beady eyes narrowed, and he settled his gaze on Rita. “And exactly how did you manage that?”

  “I work here, and you know that. Or did you think I dress like this every day for fun? Jenna’s never been here. I can attest to that fact.”

  “Oh, really?” Grunt. Sutter cocked his head and wrinkled his brow. “You’re saying you’ve known this woman for only a few days and you already know for a fact she’s never been to this hotel. And how can you be so sure?”

  “Because she told me.” Rita gave my hand a soft squeeze.

  Sutter narrowed his eyes at Rita. “I see.” He turned back to me, a speculative look on his face.

  When I could speak past the anger choking me, thankful Rita had given me a few precious seconds to regain my composure yet worried she was unintentionally doing more harm than good, I said, “While we had our differences, I would never have killed Norman. Unless you have something proving I did this and plan to arrest me, I’m leaving.”

  Sutter looked at me and leaned forward, a clear attempt at intimidation. His gaze bored into me when I didn’t back away from him but held my ground. “No, you’re not under arrest. For now. But stay in town. We may want to talk to you further.”

  Again with the useless demand that I stay in town. However, as I had no intention of leaving, especially since I could now prove beyond a doubt that Norman wasn’t Uncle Paul’s son, long-lost or otherwise, I chose not to irritate him simply for the sake of irritation. “Thank you, Detective, for a lovely time,” I said as Rita and I rose and started toward the door.

  “Miss Quinn, please wait.” Detective Logan’s softer tones made me stop and turn. “It would really help our investigation if you told us why you came here today.” Logan’s open expression caught me off guard.

  I wanted to believe he wasn’t playing the good cop to Sutter’s bad again, but I simply couldn’t trust it. However, I knew there was a time to protect family from gossip and there was a time to protect my own backside. In this particular instance, my backside definitely came first. “I’ll answer if you’re actually interested in the truth.” I stood with my chin held high, determined not to look intimidated. In the back of my mind, I knew I should be scared I was now being considered a suspect again. However, I could not, would not, believe the universe would make me the victim of blame for a third murder I hadn’t committed. No one had luck that bad.

  Logan approached and held out his hand to lead me back to the couch. “I’m always interested in the truth.”

  Instinctively, I placed my hand in his, letting its warmth give me strength. He walked beside me, and a corner of my brain registered that he was a bit taller than I was as Rita and I recrossed the room and sat. “I’d better start at the beginning.” I gathered my thoughts as Logan moved to stand behind Sutter.

  “Please do,” said Sutter, his sarcastic tone briefly shaking my resolve. Grunt.

  I took a deep breath, chose to ignore him, and focused instead on Logan’s kind eyes. “As you know, I came here a week and a half ago, at my uncle’s invitation, to stay for a while. As you also know, I inherited most of what Uncle Paul had.” I held up a hand as Sutter leaned forward. “Before you get all worked up with the theory that I killed him for an inheritance, let me nip that one in the bud. I hadn’t seen him since I was a teenager, so I had no idea what he owned, much less that I was a beneficiary of some sort of trust he’d put in place.” Rita’s hand had slipped into mine again as I spoke, and I gripped it tightly. I’d have to apologize later.

  “Where does Childers fit into this story?” asked Logan.

  “Three days ago, he stormed into my store, insisting he was Uncle Paul’s long-lost son and had come to claim the inheritance as his, since the only reason I received everything was because Uncle Paul had no children. I talked to my lawyer, and he said some of the papers looked legitimate.”

  Grunt. Sutter blinked slowly, giving the impression I was telling him things he already knew. “Continue, please, Miss Quinn. I’m in suspense.”

  I clamped down on Rita’s hand even harder, grateful for the lifeline. “Mr. Childers claimed to be conceived by his mother and Uncle Paul about five years after Uncle Paul and Aunt Irene married. That would have meant Uncle Paul had been unfaithful. It really bothered me, so I phoned my parents. My mother was Aunt Irene’s younger sister. They called back this morning and told me what they’d found. The reason Uncle Paul and Aunt Irene never had any children was because Uncle Paul had
a bad case of the mumps as a child.”

  “So?” Sutter quirked up a corner of his mouth and raised an eyebrow.

  “The mumps can cause sterility in men.” Logan leaned over and spoke quietly near Sutter’s ear.

  I smiled at him. Maybe he really wasn’t in the let’s-convict-Jenna camp. “Exactly. Norman Childers couldn’t have been Uncle Paul’s son, because Uncle Paul couldn’t father any children. Neither in nor out of wedlock. Obviously, this little fact had slipped past our Mr. Childers, or he would have tried for a better story.”

  Sutter sat up and leaned forward. “Why do you think this guy cooked up such an elaborate story?”

  “That, Detective Sutter, is the question of the day.” I rose once again, pulling Rita along with me, and walked toward the door. I turned and locked gazes with Sutter before sweeping out of the room. “And it’s a question to which I full well intend to find an answer.” Perry would have been proud.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Again I stood in the lavish hotel lobby, drooling over its opulence. Rita had left me alone while she went to let someone know she was leaving for lunch. We hoped to come up with a solution together. I was so lost in thought, I didn’t hear the man speaking to me until he touched my elbow. Jumping a bit, I turned to look into the bluest eyes I’d ever seen in my life.

  “Ma’am?” he questioned, obviously not for the first time.

  I mentally shook myself, reminding myself that my last relationship had failed so badly I’d sworn off men. “Yes?”

  “I asked if I could assist you in any way.” His voice was even smoother than the rest of him. The tag attached to his lapel announced he was the hotel manager.

  Great, they’d sent in the big guns to remove the woman who obviously didn’t belong in a hotel this expensive. “I’m sorry. I’m waiting for a friend to go to lunch.”

  His raised eyebrows told me he wasn’t sure he believed me. Fortunately, Rita chose that exact moment to reappear.