“Jenna, you ready to go?” Rita did seem to have the best timing. “Oh hello, Elliot. I see you’ve met my new neighbor.”
“Not really,” his silken voice replied as he eyed me speculatively.
“Elliot, this is Jenna Quinn.” She turned to me. “Jenna, this is Elliot Burke. He runs this little roach motel.”
Elliot smiled a slightly stiff smile that didn’t completely reach his eyes.
“Jenna and I are running out for a bite to eat. Care to join us?” Rita asked.
“I really shouldn’t. I should be here in case …” His voice trailed off, his eyes narrowing.
“We already know about the ‘little incident’ in suite four-twelve. We just came from there,” Rita said quietly.
“Then you know why I can’t join you today. Another time, maybe?” Elliot turned to leave.
Rita put a hand on his arm to stop him. “Elliot, you can’t quit eating every time there’s a crisis of some kind at the hotel. You can let the front desk know where you are. We won’t go far. As a matter of fact, why don’t we eat right here in the hotel dining room?”
I groaned inside, picturing my not-quite-new khakis set against Rita’s gorgeous costume. And Elliot was hardly wearing rags himself, dressed in a sack coat, high vest, tie, creased and cuffed pants, and heeled shoes—quite the fashion statement for men from the turn of the twentieth century. I resisted the urge to kick Rita to shut her up.
And shut up Rita did not. “Come on, Elliot. You’ll be right here if they need you. Wouldn’t you rather eat with two beautiful women and enjoy witty conversation than grab some lunch tray and take it to your office to eat while you worry yourself into an ulcer?”
Elliot looked at me as if he wasn’t quite sure about the witty conversation, but he apparently decided to chance it. “All right. You two go ahead to the dining hall. Tell them you’re to be seated at my table. I’ll be there as soon as I let my assistant know where to find me.” He strode purposefully across the room, down the hall, and around a corner.
Rita grinned. “You’ll love our dining room. The food is to die for.” Her grin slipped as her words struck home.
“Let’s hope I don’t get tossed out for being underdressed.” I looked at her clothes. “I hardly fit in with the two of you or the surroundings.”
“Listen, if Elliot Burke is taking the time to eat with us, then it doesn’t matter if you’re wearing a Hefty bag. No one is tossing you out.”
“I think you’re dreaming, but either way, we’ll never know if we stand him up while we argue in the lobby.”
Rita sighed, threaded her arm through mine, and led me across the hotel to the dining hall. While Rita arranged for us to sit at Elliot’s personal lunch table, I soaked up the surroundings, which were as lavish as the rest of the hotel.
Dining hall was an apt name for the long room. Like the lobby, it had a large chandelier hanging from the center of the incredibly high ceiling. At each end of the room, a massive fireplace opened up, tall enough for a man to stand in without bumping his head on the top. Although neither was lit, I could imagine both giving off good cheer on a cold winter’s night as huge logs crackled and popped, warming the long room.
Large Oriental rugs lay in front of the fireplaces, covering the highly polished wood floors, and several large tapestries hung on the walls to absorb sound. It was obvious the room had originally been intended to house a very long table for formal dinner parties, but smaller tables now dotted the room instead, letting separate groups have a bit of privacy from the rest of the guests.
I took it all in as I followed Rita to Elliot’s table near one of the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the terrace. Quite a few tables sat outside, and I sighed with relief when I noticed several guests, both inside and outside, were dressed almost as casually as I was.
Rita nudged me and pointed toward the door. Elliot threaded his way across the room to our table.
“Hello again, ladies.” Elliot sat in the empty chair next to Rita.
“Why, fancy meetin’ you here, sir.” Rita had donned her southern drawl. All she needed was a fan to wave in front of her face.
Elliot grinned at Rita, obviously enjoying the light flirting.
“So, what brings you out to the hotel today, Miss Quinn?” He was the epitome of politeness.
What could I say? I wanted to talk to this guy who was staying here, but somebody beat me to it and killed him? “I had personal business with one of your guests.”
“Not the one in four-twelve, I hope.” Worry lines creased his forehead.
“That very gentleman.” Rita gave a slight nod. “Although I do use the term gentleman loosely. He was trying to steal Jenna’s inheritance. Tell him, Jenna.”
Without going into too much detail, I explained to Elliot about my run-ins with the now-deceased Norman Childers. I wrapped up with the tale of my interview with the police detectives upstairs. When I had caught Elliot up to speed, I was pleased to note I hadn’t stuttered, stammered, let spittle fly out of my mouth, spilled my drink, which had been ordered and delivered during my speech, knocked my eating utensils on the floor, or used poor grammar, which would have proved I didn’t belong in a place this nice. Mom would be proud.
Rita propped her arms on the table and leaned forward. “I have a question. If Paul knew he didn’t have any children and that your mom only had one child, why did the trust say something about if he didn’t have any birth or adopted children it would go to any children your mom had?”
Not a bad paraphrase. I was glad I’d explained it well enough that she remembered the details. “I asked Mom the same thing. She said while Aunt Irene was alive, they never took the time to update things. What they had was legally binding, and they saw no need to change anything. After her death, he apparently couldn’t bring himself to change things because it was how she’d wanted it phrased originally. After he finally started to heal, he probably went back to the whole ‘it’s legally binding, so why bother’ stance.”
Elliot seemed to consider my story for a moment. “You know what irritates me the most about the incident upstairs? Other than that a man lost his life, of course.” He cleared his throat. “The main door was locked, and the chain was attached. Whoever killed him didn’t go out the door into the hall.”
“Really?” It sounded like something out of some old-time mystery novel, and I could almost picture Sherlock Holmes smoking a pipe next to the fireplace or Miss Marple sipping tea at one of the tables across the room. “Do the police have any idea how that was managed?”
“The murderer must have been someone who knew about all of the secret passageways originally built into the place.” Elliot took a sip of his hot tea.
“Secret passageways?” My ears perked up. This was even better.
“Yes,” replied Elliot. “When the hotel conglomerate bought this place, they discovered a whole network of secret passageways designed to allow servants to move in and out of rooms without disturbing guests in the hallways. Since they were trying to be as accurate as possible, they decided to leave them in the plans. I suppose they thought it lent the place an air of authenticity to have our staff use those passageways to service the rooms. Guests seem to love the idea.”
“Aren’t there locks on the passageway doors?” I asked.
“There are.” Elliot wrapped his long fingers around his tea. “And this one was left unlocked. That’s the only way the killer could have gotten out of the room.”
“Then the person who killed Norman Childers knew enough to use the passageways and therefore be less likely to be seen,” Rita added.
Elliot sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Which narrows down the list of possible suspects to every guest and employee at the hotel and everyone in town who has ever taken a tour here and every worker who helped complete the project, changing the original home into a hotel. But the police seem to think it should be narrowed down to the staff, since they are the only ones who know how to navigate the passageway
s easily. And they have a point, since the passages can get confusing if you don’t know where you’re going. Lots of the new staffers get lost a few times before getting it all mapped out in their heads.”
“No wonder you’re so uptight.” Rita shook her head. “You’ve got to help decide which of your employees gets fingered for the murder. Do they think it was a robbery?”
“I’m not sure.” Elliot took a sip of his drink before continuing. “I don’t think so. There didn’t seem to be anything missing from his room. The silver candlesticks were still on the mantel; the crystal vases were still on the bedside tables. He still wore his Rolex, and his wallet—with credit cards and cash—was in his jacket pocket. Unless the killer was after something in particular, robbery doesn’t look likely.”
Rita piped in again. “Did he have anything in the hotel safe?”
“No, not a thing,” said Elliot. “But I understand there were a few personal and business papers in the wall safe in his room.”
“Probably his phony papers from his lawyer.” I leaned back and crossed my fingers in my lap, hoping Norman had been dumb enough or cocky enough to bring incriminating evidence with him.
“Possibly.” Elliot nodded, his hands fiddling with the napkin on the table in front of him. “The police aren’t saying, but you might be correct.”
“If so, I’d sure love to get a look at them.” I fidgeted in my seat, resisting the urge to run upstairs and snatch the papers that could possibly incriminate Norman from Detective Sutter’s hands. While I hadn’t wished Norman dead, I still relished the thought of destroying his flimsy cover story.
“I doubt that would be possible.” Rita sighed and propped her elbows on the table. “Even if they do turn out to be his legal papers. If they are, though, the police will probably have to turn them over to Mr. Grimes, and you’ll get to know about them then.”
“At least the police have a long list of suspects besides me. Plus, I didn’t know about the secret passages.” I was reaching for a long shot, but hey, I’d take what I could get.
“Yes, but none of the others had an apparent motive other than Norman being a big jerk.” Rita sure knew how to burst a girl’s bubble. “The bigger question is, did anyone also have a motive to kill Paul? The two murders have to be connected.” She turned to Elliot. “Stan Jergins, the real estate guy, comes here sometimes with Barbie when they need to woo clients. Have they been here in the last few days?”
Elliot pulled out a non-turn-of-the-nineteenth-century iPhone and made a quick call. After he hung up, he said, “It seems Stan and Barbie were here last night.”
Rita grabbed his phone and made her own call before adding, “And she wore a navy-blue dress with black lace accents, topped off with black lace gloves.” A smug smile crossed her face.
At Elliot’s confused look, Rita and I launched into a brief explanation of Stan’s possible reasons for wanting Paul dead.
“I’ll ensure Detective Sutter knows about their stay,” Elliot said as our server brought lunch. He then suggested we change the subject to something less upsetting than murder while we ate, and companionable conversation accompanied the meal. Although consumed with my own thoughts, I did enjoy the light and friendly banter between Rita and Elliot.
As we returned to the lobby after we finished our meals, the conversation returned to the murder.
“How do you plan to keep this incident from the guests?” Rita’s brow furrowed.
“I don’t really know.” Elliot frowned, looking at the guests passing through the lobby on their way to the dining hall or to their rooms. He dropped his voice to almost a whisper and leaned in. “For now, the news media has been kept away, and the police are being very cooperative. They’ve agreed to wait until dark to bring their car for the body, which will be brought out through the passageways to the service entrance. We’ve even managed to keep the staff unaware, for the most part, separating the few who do know from everyone else. I know sooner or later the media will find out, but I hope to at least keep them from getting any shots of the actual body on the premises.”
“Good luck,” I said. “Nosy reporters have to know about everything.”
“I know.” Elliot sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers. “I don’t want to give them too much to sensationalize.”
“I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you.” I patted him on the arm, knowing firsthand exactly how persistent the reporters would be once they smelled blood.
By this time we had reached the front desk. Elliot turned to me. “If you’ll leave me your telephone number, I promise to call you if I have any other information that might concern you.” He dipped a feather quill into a tiny silver inkwell and held it poised over a piece of ivory-colored parchment.
I gave him my number and thanked him for his hospitality. “It’s really beautiful here. I wish I could afford to be a paying guest. I’d love to stay in one of those rooms.”
“We’ll see what we can do.” Smiling, he placed my number in his pocket and strode away from us back to his job.
I turned to Rita and winked. “You two seem to have a good thing going.”
Rita chuckled. “Oh, there’s nothing going on. We only like flirting.”
“Looked like something to me.”
“Sure, he’s eye candy with that silvering hair and great body, not to mention those eyes.” Rita fanned herself with her hand. “But he’s gay and deeply in love with his long-term partner. So, he’s off-limits. He simply doesn’t flaunt it so the older women who come here will feel free to flirt and will tip the staff better.”
I changed the subject. “Do you think he’ll call?”
“He will if he has news. He wouldn’t have said so if he didn’t mean it.” Rita pulled a watch from a hidden pocket in her skirt. “I’ve got to be off for now too. See you later.”
I couldn’t stop thinking about Norman’s murder as I climbed into the carriage for the ride down the tree-lined drive on the way back to my car. Sutter had already zeroed in on me as his number-one suspect, and if we proved Mason didn’t kill my uncle, I’d again be his primary suspect for that as well. My life teetered on the edge of a nightmarish turn.
Chapter Twenty-Two
As I fit my key into the lock at Baxter’s Book Emporium, Olivia Hokes rushed out from next door. Oh God, what now? I fervently hoped she wasn’t on another pissed-off rant. I much preferred the supportive-neighbor version of Olivia.
“What a pleasant surprise.” I’d be in deep trouble if the woman turned out to be a mind reader.
“Good afternoon, Miss Quinn.”
“It’s Jenna, please.” I breathed a sigh of relief.
“Only if you’ll call me Livie.” She ducked her head in a tiny nod.
I unlocked my door and held it open for her to precede me inside. “All right, Livie. Is there something I can help you with?”
“Yes, there is.” Livie seated herself beside the counter. “First, I’d like to apologize for the way I treated you a few days ago. I was having a bad day with the arthritis in my knees. I tend to be snippy on days like that. After our last chat, I realized I hadn’t set things straight.”
I nodded with sympathy I didn’t feel. This lady was way too spry to have arthritis as bad as she claimed, but I’d allow her a way to save face. “Don’t think a thing about it. Consider it completely forgotten. Was there anything else?” I genuinely hoped there wasn’t. No matter how I looked at it, the older woman got on my nerves, and I hoped my irritation didn’t show.
“Actually, there is. Paul sometimes found books that mentioned Hokes Folly or one of its citizens. When he did, he always gave me first chance at buying them. I have quite a collection. It’s become sort of a hobby of mine. Would you mind offering me the same service?” Livie was still using her sweet, helpless act.
I wasn’t buying it. However, if Livie wanted to purchase books, I’d manage to put on a nice act of my own. “I’d be delighted to help out. Anything for a neighbor.”
I hoped Livie couldn’t see through my forced politeness, but I couldn’t resist the opportunity to find out more about the woman who now pretended to like Uncle Paul, a man she had previously implied she despised. “But only if you promise to give me a look at your collection sometime when it’s convenient. It sounds fascinating.”
“Of course. Anytime you want.” A genuine smile crossed Olivia Hokes’s face, the first I’d seen since I’d met her in Mr. Grimes’s office.
The change was startling. I could now see a strong resemblance between the two sisters, as the smile softened Livie’s features and brought a sparkle to her eyes.
“You stop by anytime you want,” Livie repeated, continuing to smile. “I love to show off my books and get a chance to teach someone about our town.”
“I’ll be sure and do that.” I couldn’t help but wonder at this third version of the woman.
Livie rose and turned toward the door. “I guess I should be getting back next door. Phillie didn’t want me gone too long, since she’s ready to go home for the day.”
I breathed a sigh of relief as the bells tinkled to announce Olivia Hokes’s departure and shook my head at the sisters’ nicknames for each other. Sure, Phillie fit the sweet Ophelia, but Livie seemed a bit too cute for the usually sour Olivia. Or was it? Livie had shown an unexpected side of herself today. Was the woman as sour as she seemed, or was there still a wholesome and hopeful attitude buried somewhere under all the bitterness she wore like a badge? Would the real Olivia Hokes please step forward?
I pulled my attention back to the bookstore. As I looked down the aisles, I was amazed at how much Mason had accomplished during my absence the previous afternoon. He’d be a true asset while here, and I’d hate to see him go.
I’d given Mason the day off since I’d had no idea what time I’d arrive, so I passed the afternoon alone with my thoughts of murder.
The bells tinkled, and I hoped it was a genuine customer this time. I was pleased to find it was. Thanks to my efforts and the assistance from my new friends, I managed to help my first customer of the day and the subsequent three who entered the store, finding the right book for each and sending them away happy with minimal effort. I was genuinely starting to like this place. Maybe once word got out that things were run a bit differently and Norman Childers could in no way change the store’s makeup, more business would roll in. As I eyed the large front windows with the little shelf below them, display possibilities ran through my mind, and I spent the afternoon plotting how to attract more customers.
For Whom the Book Tolls Page 15