“And you were at the dinner tonight?” the woman mused, half her mouth pulling up in a sticky red smile. “You’ve just made my job a lot easier.”
“And you are?” Sadie finally asked, trying to equalize the dueling impressions of this woman in her mind.
“Jane Seeley,” the woman said, smiling. “I know. I look nothing like my picture.”
Sadie shook her head, “No, you don’t.”
Jane shrugged. “It was a joke.”
“What was a joke?” Sadie said, trying to keep up. Did she mean she was joking when she claimed to be Jane? But the voice matched.
“The picture,” Jane explained. “I’d been writing freelance for the paper, covering everything from junior high basketball to the increase in eastern religious practices in the rural areas of Colorado. Everyone at the Post knew me by name, but I’d never met any of them thanks to e-mail and telephones and I couldn’t seem to crack into anything but bit pieces. So, on a whim, I submitted the Ms. Jane column idea—and included a picture of my half-sister, Becca. She was far more the ‘look at me and sigh’ girl in my family. I meant the whole Ms. Jane thing to be a little tongue-in-cheek but I couldn’t help but wonder if being a blonde bombshell would help my chances. What do you know they snapped it up and printed the first one before I had a chance to explain. After that, they felt it would be unprofessional to swap the picture so it stayed. But it’s all good. I can be plain Jane and she can be beautiful Becca as long as it’s my words people read.”
“Oh,” Sadie said. Plain was not the word she would use to describe this woman. Intimidating, maybe. They were silent for a moment while Sadie tried to decide whether or not she believed the story. She wondered if it would be rude to ask for ID.
“I’m glad to meet you in person,” Jane said. “Did you get my message?”
Sadie didn’t answer the question directly. “How did you get my cell number?” She looked from Jane to her car and then back again. “And how did you know that was my car?”
“The same way I get everything else—Google.”
Sadie was stunned silent. Her cell number and car information were available through Google?
Jane laughed softly. “About three years ago you headed up a fund-raiser for a youth orchestra. You put your cell number on the flier that they attached to the website for people to download. It was a few pages into the search results so it’s pretty buried, but, well, digging is what I do.” She pointed her thumb over her shoulder toward Sadie’s car. “I had your license plate number on file from when we spoke last fall. I always do backgrounds on my sources.”
Even scarier, Sadie thought.
“I’m hurt you didn’t recognize my voice, though” Jane said, putting a hand to her chest and pulling her mouth down in a pout. “Most people do.”
“We only talked a few times,” Sadie said. She was uncomfortable with Jane’s assumed familiarity. And that was saying something since Sadie generally made friends with, well, everyone.
“You called me almost two hours ago,” Sadie said, getting back to the point. “Why?”
Jane shrugged. “You’re the only person I know in Garrison. I thought I’d ask about Thom Mortenson and whether you knew him when he lived here. Did you, by the way?”
“Not very well,” she said carefully. “But I thought you were meeting with Mr. Ogreski, not Thom?”
“News travels fast,” Jane said, dropping her chin so she was looking down on Sadie in a way that made her want to fix her hair or adjust her dress. “I was going to meet with Mr. Ogreski, and now I’m trying to figure out who kept him from our appointment.” Jane looked at Sadie intently. “How did you know I was meeting with Mr. Ogreski? I didn’t think he’d told anyone, not even Thom.”
Why did Sadie feel like she was being set up for something and needed to defend herself? “I heard some police officers talking,” she said simply. “You know Mr. Ogreski’s dead, right?”
Jane gave a dismissive wave to the comment, her blue fingernail polish catching what little light there was. The flash of color was unexpected, like tiny bolts of blue lightning. Jane fixed Sadie with a piercing look. “Were you actually in there when Mr. Ogreski was shot?”
Sadie felt a shiver run through her at the directness of Jane’s questions. “I was there,” she finally said. “Did you really have a meeting scheduled with him?”
“At nine-thirty,” Jane said with a nod and a frown. “I arrived early and thought I’d catch the end of the lecture. I made it into the parking lot before the police closed it off, but imagine my surprise when I learned my contact had been killed. Blasted cops wouldn’t let me inside the building.”
“I believe they were comparing reporters to piranhas.” She hoped to put off Jane without taking the blame for it.
Instead of defending herself, Jane snapped her teeth together twice and smiled even wider. She looked past Sadie toward the door behind her. “Is that the kitchen? Is the door unlocked?”
Sadie looked over her shoulder to verify they were talking about the same door. Then she turned back to Jane. “What are you doing out here?” Sadie asked, cutting to the chase. “Why find me?”
“You’re Sadie Hoffmiller,” Jane said evenly. “I read about what happened in England, and I know from talking to you before that you have an eye for detail. I’ve got to find another way to get the information I need for my story. You could help me.”
Sadie wasn’t sure whether to feel offended or flattered to be seen as a source of help and information. Maybe a little of both was appropriate. There had been some articles here and there about the events in Devonshire, but it had been two months ago and wasn’t big news in America like it had been in the United Kingdom. People didn’t talk about it much anymore, which was fine by Sadie. She didn’t want bad things to happen around her. She didn’t like the idea of people getting hurt or murdered.
“Well, you’re welcome to come to my house and talk with me in about half an hour,” Sadie offered, curious enough about Jane to be willing to put up with her a little longer, but on her terms, not Jane’s. “I’m just leaving.”
“I was hoping you could help me get inside,” Jane said with a conspiratorial smile.
Sadie shook her head before Jane finished. “You know I can’t do that,” she said, looking up at the reporter—a reporter who knew the rules about things like this. “It’s a crime scene. No one in or out without permission from the police.” Except Sadie, it seemed. Pete had planned to write her a note for her to leave the hotel, but he’d never given it to her. Besides, there wasn’t a cop at the back door to check for permission anyway.
“I only want to look around and get a visual for the article I need to write. Have they arrested anyone or made noises about who they think would do something like this?”
Sadie shook her head. “No.”
Jane glanced at the back door. “Please let me in,” she said, but it was more a demand than a request. “I came all the way from Denver to talk to Mr. Ogreski and everyone is treating me like any other stringer hungry for a story. Besides, I’ve already got the story—or most of it anyway—that’s not the problem. What I want to understand is why it ended like this.”
Sadie felt the familiar surge of excitement course through her. Jane had a story before the shooting! And she’d had a meeting no one was supposed to know about with the man who was now dead on the hotel stage.
Go home, a voice said in her mind. It sounded a lot like Pete’s voice, which may have been why it was so easy for Sadie to push it away. “What do you mean, you’ve got the story?”
Jane narrowed her eyes slightly, as if taking Sadie’s measure. “Well, for one thing, Thom’s still here.” She nodded toward the building behind Sadie.
“What?” Sadie asked. Thom was still at the hotel? How would Jane know that? Though why had Sadie assumed he wasn’t there?
“They rented a black Camry from the airport Hertz last night,” Jane said, her eyes fairly twinkling as she imparted this know
ledge. “It’s in the lot, but the police are still looking for Thom, right? Without a car, he couldn’t get far, especially in the snow. And, quite frankly, the man can’t even tie his own shoes these days, let alone escape the dragnet this town has dropped over him.”
Sadie was stunned. Jane knew the time and place Thom and Mr. Ogreski had rented their car? Did she get that from Google too?
“What do you mean Thom can’t tie his own shoes?”
Jane shook her head. “Oh, come on, that’s old news. Thom’s had a serious drinking problem for the last few years. It’s why he rarely does events anymore.”
It wasn’t old news for Sadie. “Is that the story you had?” she asked, reviewing in her mind how Thom had looked that night. She admitted he did seem . . . worn out and anxious, but his agent had just been killed right in front of him. Thom was a drunk? No. Sadie didn’t see how that could be true. She didn’t want it to be true. She wanted Thom to be the man who had overcome his tragedies, not fallen victim to them.
“Oh, no,” Jane said with emphasis. “What I’ve got is way better than that, I assure you. But the alcoholism does factor in.” She looked at the cake in Sadie’s hands. “Do you need help with that?”
Sadie glanced down at the cake box she’d forgotten she was holding. There was a thin layer of snow on top of the cardboard. She was grateful for the turn in conversation because it gave her an excuse to move forward and think about what Jane had said.
“I need to get this cake in the car,” Sadie said, still skeptical of this reporter but willing to take her offer of assistance. Jane stepped aside to let her by.
Jane followed her while Sadie transferred the cake to one hand so she could type in the door code and unlock the car, careful to shield the number pad from Jane’s eyes. One could never be too careful. Once Sadie had unlocked all the doors, Jane pulled the back door open and made a dramatic bow.
“Thank you,” Sadie said as she leaned in, positioning the box squarely next to the other one on the backseat. She took her time, thinking about what to say once she returned to the conversation. With the cake box properly placed, Sadie stood up to ask Jane another question about the story, only to find herself once again alone in the parking lot. She looked to her right and her left. No one was there.
“Jane?” she asked.
The slightest movement by the back of the hotel caught her eye—the kitchen door falling closed.
Chapter 10
As soon as Sadie entered the kitchen, she scanned the room for Jane. The woman only had a few seconds’ head start. However, Andy made a beeline in Sadie’s direction. She had no choice but to give him her attention though she continued to look for the rogue reporter.
“I got most of the mascara off with some olive oil,” Andy said. “But she really should use a good cleanser. Those pores need to be opened up as soon as possible.”
Jane wasn’t in the kitchen, which meant she’d already made it into the hallway.
“Did you see a woman come in?”
Andy let out a breath and looked annoyed. “People have been in and out all night. What I’m worried about is Gayle.”
Sadie turned to look at Gayle, who was still seated near the sink, several feet away from them. Her face was shiny and free of makeup, though her eyes were still red and puffy. But then Sadie caught sight of a woman with short, dark hair in the back of the room. The woman turned—not Jane.
“Sadie? Are you listening to me?”
Reluctantly, Sadie looked back at Andy, whose face showed his frustration. “Vitamin C,” he said in slow, clipped tones. “Do you have a vitamin C-based cleanser she can use?”
“Um, yes,” Sadie said even though she’d never heard of a vitamin C-based cleanser. Orange juice mixed with sugar, maybe? She looked past Andy again and focused on the doors leading to the hallway. Every second she waited allowed Jane to get further away. “I’m sorry, Andy, but I really have to do something. I’ll be right back.” Sadie didn’t meet his eyes as she passed him. He let out an audible sigh, obviously frustrated with her. She hated that, but what could she do?
Sadie hurried into the hallway. Empty. She bit her lip and considered her options. On the one hand, she wanted to go home and let Jane get caught on her own. But Jane wasn’t supposed to be here, and she’d tricked Sadie to get inside, which was a sure sign that the reporter couldn’t be trusted.
Sadie groaned and took a breath as she headed for the doors to the main ballroom. She didn’t have time to search the hotel—and it wasn’t her job anyway—but she had to tell Pete, regardless of how much she dreaded having to talk to him again after being dismissed twice already.
All the lights in the ballroom had been turned up, all the better to put the absolute mess on display. It was horrible. Sadie feared that if the staff didn’t start cleaning soon, they’d all be there until two o’clock in the morning. She finally saw Pete on the stage, discussing something with two important-looking men. A gurney stood off to the side with a big, black lumpy bag strapped to it. Little tented pieces of paper were all over the place. Evidence markers, Sadie guessed.
She walked to the bottom of the stage stairs, waiting for Pete to notice her. He didn’t. She shifted her weight, anxious to get it over with. He still didn’t see her. With another sigh, she picked up her skirts and climbed the steps with heavy feet before stopping a few feet away from the three men. After waiting a few more seconds in hopes Pete would perhaps feel her presence, she gave up and cleared her throat. He didn’t notice. She cleared her throat again—much louder. This time Pete turned around. The two men with him looked in her direction as well. She was immediately reminded that she’d been out in the snow for several minutes. Her hair must be a sight—and not a good one. She forced a smile and lifted a hand casually to her hair, attempting to re-lift the roots which were decidedly flattened. So much for wooing Pete’s good favor through her stunning good looks.
“Sadie,” Pete said with forced politeness.
She smiled and motioned him to come toward her. After a slight hesitation, he excused himself from the other men and walked toward her. When he drew close, he took her arm and walked her down the steps. She could feel the tension in him and hated that she was adding to it.
“Why are you still here?” he said, leaning toward her as he spoke.
“I need to tell you something important.” She gave him a strong look that she hoped would communicate how important this was and that she wouldn’t interrupt him otherwise. “I was taking a cake out to the car and I ran into a reporter.”
“There are dozens of reporters here,” Pete said, putting one hand in his pocket. Even though she couldn’t see it, she knew it was clenched in a fist. “If you would leave, they’d stop bothering you.”
“She wasn’t bothering me,” Sadie said, hating his dismissive and annoyed tone. She knew it seemed as though she kept sticking her nose in the case, but she wasn’t doing it on purpose. “Well, I mean she was bothering me, but that’s not my point. She said—”
“Detective Cunningham?”
Pete turned to look up at one of the men on the stage. The man had a thin face and heavy eyebrows in serious need of a trim and which served to give him a decidedly severe look. He wasn’t in a uniform, but Sadie felt sure he was very important all the same. Maybe he was a plainclothes detective, like Pete.
The man lifted his eyebrows in an unspoken question: Were they going to get on with their discussion or not? Sadie expected the man wasn’t the type who took well to waiting. She could relate and hoped he could count to ten or something. She put her hand on Pete’s arm to get his attention. If she could just get the words out, she could leave and go home like Pete had asked.
“This reporter,” Sadie said. “Ms. Jane, she’s—”
“Look,” Pete said, cutting her off. He attempted to smile, perhaps to soften his tone, but the stress and strain of the situation made the smile rather ineffective. “The medical examiner just arrived from Fort Collins and the captain i
s here. I really can’t talk to you right now.” He looked over his shoulder at the two men who had gone back to their discussion. A discussion Pete obviously wanted to be a part of.
“But you need to know that this reporter—Jane Seeley from the Post—is here. She’s inside the hotel.” Sadie leaned close to him and whispered the rest of what she had to say. “She was supposed to meet with Mr. Ogreski tonight.” She pulled back, nodding knowingly. That was important information, right?
Pete looked at her, not registering any enthusiasm for what she’d said. “Okay,” he said tightly, “I’ll take care of it.”
The flippancy was impossible to ignore. “Did you hear what I said?” Sadie asked. “A reporter is here. She came in through the kitchen when I was taking cakes out to my car—”
That got his attention. “The doors are supposed to be locked,” Pete said.
“Well, I had to unlock it so I could take my cakes out,” Sadie said, though she was reluctant to admit she’d been part of the reason Jane had come in. “But I didn’t let her in,” Sadie hurried to explain. “In fact I told her she couldn’t come in. But then I turned to put the cake in the car and she snuck inside.”
Pete’s jaw clenched, and he didn’t speak for a few moments.
“I’m sorry,” Sadie said. “And I’m going home, but I wanted to make sure you knew about Jane being here.”
When Pete spoke, his voice was tight. “Go home, Sadie,” he said, and she suddenly felt like a disobedient puppy. “Your interest in this case is not normal and it has been noticed. You are creating a problem that is becoming an issue.” He nodded slightly over his shoulder at the man with the wiry eyebrows. “I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”
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