“Renting tents costs money,” Herb grumbled. “Money we don’t have.”
“Actually, I borrowed an E-Z Up canopy from my landlady and brought it with me,” Kathy said. “She used to sell jewelry at craft shows. She said you could borrow it for a few weeks. She’ll need it back before Labor Day, though. That’s when she throws her annual family picnic.”
“She’ll have it back long before then. I’ll make sure of it, and please thank her for us,” Tori said.
“Sure thing.”
They ate for a few minutes in awkward silence, with only the sound of cutlery on plates breaking the quiet. Daisy rounded the table, but got no scraps from her owner or her best friend. Eventually, she sauntered out of the kitchen.
Kathy finally broke the quiet. “Did the police come back today?”
“No,” Tori said
“Yes,” Herb answered.
“They did? You didn’t tell me.”
“Didn’t have time,” the old man answered.
“What did they say?”
“Not so much said as asked. They wanted to know if the shop was missing any bait.”
“Why was that?”
“’Cuz it seems that not only did someone kill Michael Jackson, but they stuffed his mouth full of spikes.”
Tori set down her fork and pushed her plate away. “I’m done.”
Kathy looked confused. “What are spikes?”
Herb scooped up the last of his potato salad and shoved it into his mouth. He quickly chewed and swallowed before answering. “Maggots.”
“Oh!” Kathy pushed her plate away, too. “Why would anyone do that?”
Herb took a bite of his sandwich and shrugged. “Why would anyone kill the man?”
“Was the shop missing any bait?” Tori asked.
“I wasn’t sure. But you were with me when we came back from the funeral. The door to the shop was locked. I didn’t see any signs of a break-in, and with all that’s happened in the past week, I couldn’t tell if anything had been taken.”
“Did they believe you?”
“Probably not.”
“What else did they want to know?” Tori asked.
“They just kept asking the same questions over and over until I got mad.”
“Oh, Gramps. If you changed your version of the events in any way, shape, or form, they might think you had something to do with Mr. Jackson’s death.”
“There are plenty of witnesses who can say I was at your grandma’s funeral when Jackson died,” Herb said flatly.
“Was killed,” Tori emphasized.
“How did he die?” Kathy asked.
“Strangled,” Herb said. “They want to talk to you again, too, Tori.”
“I suppose that means they’ll be back again tomorrow.”
“We’d better start work on the bait shop early,” Kathy suggested.
“You’re gonna have to wash the walls before you can paint,” Herb advised.
“Do you have a power washer?” Tori asked, predicting the answer.
“Nope.”
“We’ll just have to use scrub brushes and soapy water, then,” Kathy said. “What time does the shop open?”
“Six,” Herb said.
“We don’t have to start that early,” Tori hurriedly said.
“I’ll set my phone alarm for seven. Can I bum breakfast off of you?” Kathy asked.
“Of course,” Tori said, and wondered what she could offer her friend besides toast.
“Great.”
Herb ate the last of his sandwich before he, too, pushed his plate away. “I’m gonna watch me some news,” he announced and got up, heading for the living room and leaving the supper dishes for Tori. She didn’t mind, got up, and started clearing things away.
Kathy watched. “Where do you want to start? In the kitchen, the living room, or your bedroom?”
“My bedroom?” Tori let out a ragged breath and returned the pickle jar to the door of the fridge. “That’s going to take some getting used to. But once I clear some space, I think I could get a double bed in there. Sleeping in a twin makes me feel like a ten year old.” She shook her head ruefully. “I guess we may as well start in here.”
Kathy helped her finish clearing the table. Tori rinsed the dishes and Kathy loaded them into the dishwasher.
Tori stood in the middle of the kitchen. “Well, where do we start?”
“How about the magnets on the fridge?” Kathy suggested. You could barely see the refrigerator door for all the magnets. Many of them were from tourist spots, with another bunch from local businesses. Five silent minutes later, the fridge was revealed to be white, matching the stove and dishwasher. “I’ll wipe it down while you start on one of the counters,” Kathy said.
Tori opened the box of garbage bags, taking one out and shaking it open. “I wish you hadn’t told Gramps about my job situation,” she said tersely.
“It’s better to get everything out into the open. Now he knows you don’t have some kind of ulterior motive for helping him spruce up the place.”
“Except now he thinks I’m here to sponge off of him.”
“I don’t believe that for a minute,” Kathy said, “and neither does he.”
Tori looked at the counter. Most of what cluttered it was paper—in the form of old magazines. “We can recycle all this. I’m going out to the lodge to get a box.”
“I’ll come with you. It’s still light. We should take a look at it to see what kind of shape it’s really in before you can make a decision about investing in it.”
Tori nodded and grabbed a set of keys from a little teapot-shaped rack on the wall and grabbed a heavy-duty flashlight from the counter, checking it first to make sure it worked, then led the way.
The northern sky over Lake Ontario was beginning to glow pink as they walked across the lawn toward the shuttered motel. “I know the bottom units are stuffed full of boxes, but I have no idea about the second floor,” Tori said. They looked up. Closed curtains blocked the windows. Tori started for the stairs, but Kathy hung back. “Where did they find the dead man?”
Tori paused and pointed. “This unit.” The crime tape was gone. Perhaps Gramps had torn it off to avoid awkward questions from customers. “Do you want to look?”
“Is there anything to see?” Kathy asked.
Tori shook her head.
“What was he like?”
“Mr. Jackson?” Tori shrugged. “A quiet man. I don’t remember him ever saying very much.”
“I assume he lived alone.”
“Years ago he had a family; a wife and two kids. I used to play with the daughter, Anissa. One summer I came back to the bay and she and her mom and brother were gone. I never heard why.”
They headed up the stairs. Once on the balcony, Tori sorted through the keys until she came to one marked #7. She inserted it in the lock and turned the handle. The door opened inward. The air was hot and smelled musty, and except for several pieces of furniture, the unit was empty.
“Wow. It looks like it’s frozen in time,” Kathy said, taking in a dresser, a double bed stripped of sheets, two nightstands, and an old TV on a rolling stand. “But if the other three units up here are like this, it won’t take much to get them up and running again.”
“I don’t know,” Tori said doubtfully. “Right off the bat we’d have to get new mattresses, carpets, sheets, curtains, and towels, not to mention check the plumbing and the heater and AC units.”
“You’ve been thinking about this—a lot,” Kathy commented.
“Yeah,” Tori admitted.
Kathy entered the unit and crossed the shag carpet to the bathroom. It was not a thing of beauty. Pale green tile ran half way up three of the walls and enclosed the tub. The fixtures were plain white. The bathtub’s bottom housed a collection of dead flies and spiders.
“Any ideas on how to make a nightmare from the 1970s look like a dream?” Tori asked.
Kathy sighed. “New mirrors, or at least dressing these u
p, a coat of paint, a piece of art, and a shelf for guests to put their toiletries.”
“And in the rooms?”
“New curtains, bedspreads, paint, and a few pictures. You’ll also need new TVs and Wi-Fi.”
“I don’t even have Wi-Fi. I’ve been checking my email on my phone, and it’s a royal pain. I meant to call the cable company today. Something else to do tomorrow.” She shook her head, her mouth drooping. “It all seems insurmountable.”
“It’s a challenge,” Kathy admitted, “but, man, would I love to get my hands dirty working on it.”
“You must be out of your mind.”
“It would be great practice for when I buy my own place.”
“I wish I could afford to hire you to run it.”
Kathy’s eyes widened. “You’re tempting me.”
“Even with seven units, Gramps and Grandma could never make the place pay for itself. The season is just too short.”
“Fish bite in the spring and fall, too, don’t they?”
“Technically, they also bite in winter. Once the bay ices over, there are fishing shacks all along the shore.”
“Are they just locals, or do people come in from out of town and need lodging?”
Tori shrugged. “Gramps might know.” She made a mental note to ask him.
“Did your grandparents ever advertise the lodge?”
“I don’t know. They used to have business cards and matchbooks, but that may have been the extent of their promo. They used to be listed in the Triple A guide, but I don’t think they ever got more than two diamonds.”
“Did the other units have more than one bed?”
“They must have. I remember lots of families staying here. Maybe they had rollaway cots. We’d have to ask Gramps.”
“What’s the audience you want to attract?” Fishermen and families, too?” Kathy asked.
“Anybody with a credit card. Oh, damn,” Tori said. “I don’t even know if Gramps takes credit cards in the shop. What if he only does cash?”
“There are lots of options. Don’t talk yourself out of all this before you even start,” Kathy warned.
“Can I hope to attract any customers when there’s been a murder on the premises?” Tori asked.
“Who’s going to tell them upfront?”
“Nobody, I guess, but what about after they get here?”
“Establish a cancellation policy. Every other motel chain in the world has one.”
“And won’t we need a software program to go with that? And to be tied to a bigger reservations network?”
“You’re talking yourself out of it again. Why don’t you just start by thinking big-picture before you get to the nitty-gritty?”
“It’s the nitty-gritty that scares the hell out of me,” Tori said. Her eyes filled with tears. “How did Grandma handle all this?”
“Oh, Tor, don’t cry,” Kathy said, and captured her friend in a hug.
“My Grandma’s gone. I loved her so much and she’s gone,” Tori managed and broke into heaving sobs.
Kathy embraced her, patting her back. “You go ahead and cry,” she soothed.
“Nobody in my family seems to care what happens to Gramps. Since he’s not sick, they just left the area. They’re all selfish and self-absorbed. This is my family—Gramps’s children—and they just left him!”
“You’re here. You’re helping him. That’s all that matters. Screw the rest of them,” Kathy said. “But you know your Gramps is in good health. They probably think he’ll last another twenty years. And there’s a good possibility he might do just that.”
“I hope he does.” Tori pulled back and wiped her eyes. “We’d better look at the other units and then get back to clearing out the kitchen.”
Kathy gave Tori’s back one last pat and turned for the door. Tori looked around the room and gave a heavy sigh, depression weighing on her, and then she, too, left the room, locking it.
Except for the bathroom tile—in blue, yellow, and pink—the other rooms were a mirror of the first they viewed. “This is encouraging,” Kathy said, her voice filled with optimism.
“If you say so,” Tori muttered. All she saw were problems, knowing only an infusion of cash could solve them.
They went back down the stairs and Tori unlocked the door to first unit. She had to shove hard against the boxes that blocked the room; still, they weren’t heavy. “I was hoping I’d find an empty one; I didn’t realize there were so many of them,” she said. “We’ll have to collapse a few of them just to get one out of here.”
“Why don’t we collapse enough of them so that you can get in and out of here without a struggle?” Kathy suggested. Tori agreed, set the lit flashlight on one of the stacks, and the two of them spent the next ten minutes peeling off wide ribbons of sealing tape and setting the cardboard aside.
“Why on earth did your grandmother collect so many empty boxes?” Kathy asked.
“Who knows? But we can use them to pack up stuff to take to the thrift shop. There’s one about ten minutes from here in North Erie.”
A bed and dresser appeared from under the boxes, and they stacked the cardboard on the bed’s damp mattress. Years of lack of air circulation had encouraged mold growth. “Looks like we’ll have to strip this room back to the studs to bring it up to an acceptable level,” Tori said, what little hope she had plummeting even further. “I don’t think there’s anyone local who does that kind of work. It’ll probably cost more if they have to add in travel time for a contractor to come in from Rochester.”
“You’re doing it again; looking for ways to fail instead of succeed,” Kathy warned.
“It all feels hopeless right now.”
“Well, that’s because you’re in mourning. You are not going to get over your grandmother’s death in just a day, a week, a month, or even a year. But from what you’ve told me, she loved this little motel. What a wonderful tribute it would be for you to get it back on its feet and make a success of it.”
Tori nodded. “I’d love to do that.”
“Then make that your goal.”
The corners of Tori’s mouth quirked into a modest smile. “Thanks, Kath. You always know what to say—how to make me look at alternatives.”
“And you do the same for me.” Kathy squinted in the nearly dark room. “Grab a box and let’s get out of here. We have to find treasure in your grandma’s collections to pay for this reno.”
Tori’s smile broadened. “You almost make me believe it can happen.”
“That’s because I honestly do believe it can happen. Now, come on. We’ve got a lot to do in the next couple of hours, and even more to do in the next two days.” Kathy grabbed a box and strode out the door. Tori followed, a tiny kernel of hope growing within her.
CHAPTER 4
The Bay Bar wasn’t exactly hopping when Kathy entered its front door later that evening, but for a dive in the middle of nowhere on a Wednesday evening, it seemed to have a fairly decent amount of patrons.
“What can I get you?” asked Paul, the bartender, who had also checked her into her rental room hours earlier.
“A gin and tonic.”
“Coming right up.”
Kathy watched as he filled a glass with ice, poured a shot into it, and squirted a dose of tonic water in before putting a slice of lime on the rim of the glass as garnish. He set it before her on a thin paper cocktail napkin. “Thanks,” she said.
He told her the cost and she dug into her pocket for the ten she’d put there after settling into her tiny room. If what they had to offer was the best available at this end of Lotus Bay, then Tori would make out like a bandit when she reopened the Lotus Lodge. Kathy’s room boasted two single (and very lumpy) beds, an analog TV, and a tiny bathroom with a three-quarter shower. The best thing that could be said about it was that it was clean. But welcoming? No. No. NO! Then again, they catered to fishermen. Did their usual clientele get bombed at the bar after a day of fishing and then fall asleep in a drunken stup
or before rising at dawn or shortly after to repeat the process?
“Let me know if you need anything,” Paul said without real sincerity, giving her the change before moving back down the bar to a group of bikers who were watching a Mets game on one of the three flat-screen TVs bolted to the walls. A guy with a crew-cut sat alone at one of the tables nursing a beer, his lightweight beige jacket a stark contrast to the bikers’ black leather.
Kathy took a sip of her drink and let it rest on her tongue for a few long moments before she swallowed. Ahhhhhh!
Tori had looked and sounded exhausted half an hour earlier when Kathy had insisted they quit cleaning house for the night. They had made substantial progress. Herb’s kitchen was sparkling clean and totally uncluttered. They’d found some interesting items that could be sold, and filled two boxes for the thrift store, as well as four bags for the Dumpster when it arrived. Tori had shed more than a few tears during the process. She’d held onto items she remembered with great fondness from her childhood, items that would have brought her—and her grandfather—real money if sold, but there was no way Kathy was going to even mention that.
Kathy had never seen her friend in such distress, and her admiration for Tori—that had already been high—had soared when she saw her depth of commitment to help her remaining grandparent.
The swinging doors that separated the bar from the kitchen burst open and a lithe, bleached blonde woman of about fifty, with substantial bags under her eyes, clad in a pink tank top with a stained white bib apron over it, entered the area behind the bar. She stopped a foot or so away from Kathy, filled a glass with ice, and squirted what looked like ginger ale from the well trigger, then took a long drag on it before she sagged against the bar.
“Long day?” Kathy asked. She’d dealt with Paul when registering for her room. Was this woman his wife, or just the short-order cook?
“Oh, yeah.”
“I’m Kathy Grant. I’m staying here for the next day or two.”
“Noreen Darby. Glad to know you. Enjoy your stay.”
“I’m taking a short working vacation. My friend, Tori, is staying with her grandfather across the road. We’re helping him sort things out.”
With Baited Breath Page 4